


From the Ashes

by Cobrilee



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Getting Back Together, Keith and James friendship, M/M, Past James Griffin/Keith (Voltron), Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:01:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25039672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cobrilee/pseuds/Cobrilee
Summary: Keith's world turned upside down the day Shiro ended their relationship and walked out of his life without warning. Three years later, a chance reunion on a tropical island tests Keith's resolve against Shiro's charm - and his regret. He knows he can withstand Shiro's attempts to find a place for himself in Keith's life once more… but does he want to?
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 53
Kudos: 232





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired like two years ago by a post Rhysiana sent me. I have no idea where the post is now, but the general situation is that two exes ended up going on vacation on the same island, with their new partners. Neither of them knew the other was there, but they posted status updates on FB and anyone who knew them both was like, "Oh, shit."
> 
> Thanks to Mad-Madam-M for the beta read, and both M and Rhys for listening to me bitch and whine about this fic for the past two years.
> 
> Also, WARNING:  
> For anyone who doesn't like the idea of James and Keith having been in a relationship prior to the start of this fic, or the idea that they're still friends during it, please just hit the back button and move along. It's made clear they were never in love with each other, but I'd much rather you just save yourself the frustration (and me the comments about how you hated that part).

“I still can’t believe you talked me into this.”

James squints up at him as Keith flops down into his chaise lounge, wrinkling his nose at the yellow drink sitting on the table next to it, in a tall fluted glass adorned with a sugar rim and a pale blue umbrella. “It was already paid for, and you’re cheap.”

“I prefer the term frugal.” Keith rolls his eyes and reaches out, grabbing the glass and taking a sip of the drink. It’s fruity, which he expected, but it tastes surprisingly good. “What if we kill each other? Your mother would never forgive me.”

“If you’re dead, she can’t make your life miserable,” James tells him, shrugging. “Besides, we’ve been friends for a long time. I think we can handle a week in paradise together.”

Keith takes a long pull on his drink, considering the assertion. “If I didn’t think we could handle it, I wouldn’t have agreed to it. I’d have taken the financial hit.” 

James snorts. “You’d have knocked me unconscious and stolen my ticket for the random guy you picked up at the club to take with you before you took the financial hit, Keith, and you know it.”

“Give me a little credit. I would never pick someone up from the club to take on vacation,” Keith counters mildly. “The bar, maybe, but clubbers are too needy. And I would have gotten ditched as soon as we got here for someone prettier.”

“Like there’s anyone prettier than you,” James teases, and Keith snatches the slice of orange garnishing the drink, throwing it at him. He ducks, laughing, then plucks it up from where it landed on his stomach and pops it in his mouth. “Tell me again why we broke up?”

“Because you’re far too young to be tied down to one guy, and you’ve never met a twink you didn’t want to fuck?” Keith says dryly, and James nods agreeably.

“Oh, yeah. That.”

Rolling his eyes again, Keith settles back into his chaise, tipping his sunglasses down over his eyes and his chin up to the sky, soaking in the warmth of the sun. He’d prefer not to think of their breakup any more than he has to; it doesn’t hurt, he and James had always been better as friends, and it had happened over a month ago, but it still has negative connotations that curdle in his belly when he thinks about it for too long. Inevitably, he circles back around to think of the breakup before it, and that’s the one that never fails to wreck him.

Fortunately, he’s on a very tropical island, at a very fancy resort with lots of hot men and copious amounts of alcohol. He’s going to get a tan, a week-long hangover, and a temporary Caribbean boyfriend, and leave well-satisfied in all manner of ways. 

That’s the plan, anyway. 

“Holy  _ shit _ ,” James breathes, and Keith debates cracking one eye open to see what’s caught his attention. “You won’t mind if I abandon you for a week to be that gorgeous man’s love slave, will you?”

Keith has to open both eyes for a man worthy of that kind of lust in James’ voice. “What happened to your ‘twink of the night’ plan?” he cracks when he gets an eyeful of the tall, muscled man James has in his sights. “He’s too much man for…” Keith trails off when the worst nightmare he hadn’t realized he could have turns around and faces him. He’s pretty sure his face goes white.

James peers at him over his sunglasses. “You okay?” he asks, concerned.

Keith barely hears him, so focused is he on the sight of the one person who can still twist all his internal organs into a non-functioning mess. “Shiro,” he breathes, and James curses beside him.

“Do we need to go?” He’s already sitting up, one hand on Keith’s forearm, the tactician in him taking over. “I can cause a distraction, give you time to get out of here before he sees you.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Keith mutters. “Just ignore him. Maybe he won’t see us, or maybe he won’t recognize me.”

“Fat chance of that,” James hisses, gesturing at Keith. “No one on the planet has a mullet like yours. It’s one of the weirdly charming things about you.”

Keith lays back again, but he’s stiff now, anxious, and he can feel tension creeping through his shoulders. “Just shut up and maybe he won’t even look over here,” Keith snaps, quietly. They sit for several moments, unmoving, before James shifts at his side.

“I’m going swimming,” James tells him. “We have a better chance of him not looking over here if I’m gone and you’re quiet. Yell if you need me, though.”

Keith wants to yell, all right, but not because he needs James to rescue him. He wants to yell because this isn’t fucking fair. It’s been three years and he should be over it by now. He shouldn’t turn into a mess at the sight of his ex, shouldn’t feel like a spring coiled so tight it’s going to shoot off the second someone touches it. He should be able to act like a normal fucking person, like seeing his ex in another country, while on vacation with his most recent ex, is no big deal. It shouldn’t matter.

It matters. It matters so fucking much.

He doesn’t know whether he’s more miserable or joyful that he gets to see Shiro again. Just once. For a long time, that had been all he’d wanted. It had taken months before he stopped praying to find Shiro around every corner he turned, and aching with disappointment when he didn’t.

Keith doesn’t know how long he lays there, tense, anxious, waiting for Shiro to discover his presence and amble over with a friendly, albeit confused, greeting. Because that’s Shiro. Shiro would never ignore him, would never act like Keith doesn’t exist. Because Shiro is a good person.

Keith may have thought differently after Shiro decided they had no future, but deep down, he’s always believed in Shiro’s innate goodness. Damn him.

He’s startled out of his musings when he feels a cascade of water droplets hitting him. He comes just shy of hissing as he jerks back, glaring up at James, who’s shaking off over him like a wet dog. “Your boy is gone,” James informs him, but it’s somber, and he worries at his lower lip with his teeth. Keith waits, because that’s never been a good sign. “Um. He’s, uh. He’s here with someone else.”

Keith freezes, on the inside at least. On the outside, he tries to remain calm, unconcerned. “Good for him. It’s been three years, I can’t imagine that he wouldn’t have found someone else by now.” 

On the inside, he’s screaming. Crying. Grieving.

“Come on, let’s go back inside. We can drop into the spa and get you a massage. Your shoulders are practically into your ears by now.” James holds out a hand and Keith reluctantly takes it, letting James pull him to his feet. 

He prays Shiro’s vacation is ending. If it’s not, Keith’s misery is just beginning.

\-----

Keith’s practically purring, fresh off a 45-minute massage that’s turned him into goo. It wasn’t enough to relax him mentally, but physically he’s never felt better. 

Well. There have been a few times he’s felt better physically. All of them after an intense orgasm, boneless as jelly, while Shiro stroked his back and murmured wordless nonsense into his ear.

Which he’s not going to think about. He’s not undoing all of Anton’s hard work.

He checks his phone, not surprised to see a text from James indicating he met someone and may or may not be back before Keith goes to sleep. It’s followed by a promise to be available the next day in the event that Keith wants to go beach bumming but doesn’t want to be alone, in case he runs into Shiro. Keith appreciates the sentiment, but doesn’t want to spend his entire vacation clinging to James’ hand to support him through any potential encounters with his ex. Well, the one who matters, anyway. 

Keith wonders if it says anything about him that he can’t get away from his exes. Shiro’s haunted him for three years, and James is like a barnacle he can’t quite chip away. Not that he would really want to, considering then he’d have almost no friends, but most people don’t go on a tropical vacation with the guy they  _ used _ to fuck. 

He debates for a few moments before deciding that he wants to go out for a drink. Not to one of the trendy meat market clubs, but one of the more chill bars pointed out to them by one of the hotel employees. James had immediately rejected the idea, considering his whole goal for this vacation is to end up balls-deep in as many cute guys as he can find, but Keith wants nothing more than to relax in a low-pressure environment. If he meets someone, he meets someone. If he doesn’t, he can still enjoy himself.

It doesn’t take longer than a few minutes to shower, towel-dry his hair, and throw on a black v-neck t-shirt and dark-wash jeans. James would mourn his fashion sense and lament that Keith has learned exactly nothing in the almost two years he’s been subjected to James’ tutelage in the sartorial arts, which is why Keith is grateful that James has fucked off to who knows where, with who knows who.

Keith has never really needed hot clothes to attract someone when he wants. It certainly wasn’t what he was wearing that caught Shiro’s attention, considering he’d been covered in motor oil and desert dirt the first time the Garrison’s most elite pilot laid eyes on him. Shiro’s eyes had still tracked him, interested despite himself, and Keith had stared back at him defiantly, softening only when Shiro’s lips had quirked into an apologetic smile. They hadn’t exchanged any words, but Shiro had still sought him out later. Keith had ended up pressed against a wall, hanging on for dear life as Shiro fucked him relentlessly, turning his bones into liquid.

_ Fuck. I have to stop taking these trips down x-rated memory lane. _

Forcefully, he shoves Shiro from his mind and aims himself for the single-minded purpose of getting alcohol in his body. Fortunately, the bartender apparently finds him attractive, and gives him drinks with a generous shot pour along with a serious eye-fucking. Keith flashes him a smile, taking a long drink and clearing half of it in one go.

“Trying to forget something?” a voice comes from his left, wry and amused, and Keith turns to find a relatively attractive blond, sizing him up with something approximating a smirk. “Or  _ someone _ ?”

“Aren’t we all?” Keith shoots back, tipping the glass again and swallowing the rest down. “Or are you going to tell me you’re here with the love of your life and everything is perfect?”

The blond winces, and Keith feels a momentary pang of regret for being an asshole. “Pretty much the opposite, actually,” he sighs, and Keith swallows back a groan as he realizes that he’s probably just inadvertently signed himself up to be some sad sack’s barside therapist. He eyes the bartender, wondering if he’ll still give Keith generous drinks if Keith ditches out and leaves him with the guy who looks like he’s going to start crying into his beer any minute.

He decides it's not worth the risk, and manages to paste a neutrally sympathetic look on his face right before the guy launches into his tale of woe. 

“My boyfriend and I were supposed to be on this vacation to improve our relationship,” he tells Keith, eyes downcast, voice mournful. “We planned it months ago, hoping to put the spark back in our relationship, and it was almost like the idea of it started to help.”

Keith nods, trying not to make any faces the guy would take as encouragement, but he knows he's going to hear the whole sordid story regardless. He signals the bartender for a refill, and the bartender makes a sympathetic face at Keith as he gives him a double. Keith appreciates it; if he has to listen to a love gone wrong, at least he can forget all about it by the time he gets back to the hotel. 

Over the next half hour, he learns three things. First, the guy’s name is Jake, which is boringly pleasant, just like Jake himself. Secondly, he’s been with the same guy for almost a year and is still desperate for him, as evidenced by the fact that he asked the guy to move in with him the day the guy told him he’d gotten a job offer in another state. Third, his relationship is over, even if he’s (also desperately) trying to prove to himself why it’s not. Keith also learns that he has more patience than he thought he did, because he sticks with Jake and lets him pour out his sob story instead of getting up and walking away.

Once they’ve gotten to the end of it, Keith signals the bartender for another round and suggests they play darts. Jake nods, deflating a little, but he gives Keith a small smile that seems to say, “Thank you for listening.” Keith gives him a slight nod in return.

They play darts for a little while, then pool, and Jake gets progressively drunker until he’s barely standing upright. Keith, for his part, manages to stay mostly sober, which is unfortunate. He reasons it’s for the best when it comes time to leave and his new sort-of friend proves to be incapable of making it out under his own power. Keith sighs, shoulders Jake’s weight, pushes away any memories of another man’s arm over his shoulders, and hauls him back to his hotel--which, fortunately, is the same one Keith is staying at.

“You going to be okay?” he asks Jake, leaning him up against the wall outside his room. Jake sluggishly pushes his hands into his clothes, presumably trying to find his key card, and nods at Keith after a brief delay.

“Yeah, ‘ll be fine,” he slurs, and Keith frowns until Jake snags the key card and holds it up triumphantly, weaving back and forth so that it looks like he’s waving the card in the air. “See? Goddit.”

Keith half-smiles, walking backward until he sees Jake successfully insert the card and the little red light switch to green. “Take care of yourself,” he says. “Drink plenty of water so you don’t have as bad of a hangover in the morning.” It feels a little strange to be giving an adult male a pep talk, especially one he’s never seen before and will likely never see again, but he also feels like maybe he’s not such an asshole after all.

It’s only a few moments after he pivots and makes it nearly to the end of the hall that he hears Jake’s boyfriend greeting him--or, more appropriately, chastising him. “You're hammered  _ again? _ ” he sighs, but the words are muffled when the door closes behind them. Keith winces a little; hopefully things look up for Jake by morning.

At the very least, even if he and his boyfriend break up, he’ll only be here with one ex. Keith still hasn’t figured out how he ended up on vacation with two of his exes in the same vicinity.

\-----

_ “I didn’t see you there.” _

_ Keith looks askance at the gorgeous pilot who’d showered him with motor oil in the hangar; he knows it was an accident, but he’s not inclined to be immediately forgiving. “Just like this morning?” _

_ The man laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners until Keith’s blood quickens. “No, I definitely saw you now. I was talking about this morning. I didn’t see you. I also didn’t see the puddle of oil until I drove through it.” _

_ “It sounds like it’s trying to be an apology, but it’s missing a couple key words,” Keith tells him, pleased despite himself when the pilot laughs again. _

_ “I’m sorry. I truly didn’t mean to bathe you in dirty motor oil,” the pilot says, and it’s sincere enough that Keith forgives him. Reluctantly. “What’s your name?” _

_ “Keith,” he replies, and promptly closes his mouth. _

_ The pilot studies him. “Does that come with a last name?” _

_ He nods, biting his lip to keep from smiling. “It does.” He doesn’t say anything more. _

_ Rolling his eyes, the pilot sticks out a hand. Keith eyes it before shaking it, feigning reluctance. “I’m Takashi Shirogane. I haven’t seen you around here before.” _

_ Keith recognizes the name instantly; there isn’t anyone at the Garrison who wouldn’t. He counters his racing heart by cracking, “That’s a terrible line, Shirogane. You realize we’re at a military installation and not a bar, right?” _

_ Shirogane’s eyes gleam a little, and when he leans in, Keith has to force himself to hold his ground instead of leaning back. “If we were at a bar, I wouldn’t have needed a line.” _

_ Well, fuck. If that’s how he wants to play it… _

Keith fights through the fading remnants of the dream, hating himself as he comes to full consciousness. It’s been more than a year since he last dreamed of Shiro, and he’d had hopes that his subconscious was done tormenting him. Of course seeing Shiro again would have dredged all of that up.

“You awake yet?” James asks, yawning, stumbling out of his bed. Keith glances over quickly to make sure there’s no one else in it with him. He’s just grateful they were able to switch their reservation from a room with a single king bed into one with two queens, so that he’s not already in James’ bed himself.

“Mostly,” Keith answers, yawning himself and making a face at the taste of last night’s tequila still in his mouth. “I didn’t expect you to be here at all this morning.”

James shrugs, pulling out a pair of green-and-blue board shorts and a neon green tank. “We hooked up in his room, but I wasn’t interested in staying the night for a morning encore.”

“Poor baby, was the sex not good enough?” Keith teases, flipping back his own covers and swinging his legs off the side of the bed, stretching until he hears his back crack before he slides out and makes his way to the bathroom.

“Fuck you!” James snipes.

“Been there, done that,” Keith retorts, grinning. “There’s a reason we broke up.”

The expression of outrage on James’ face makes his whole morning and he takes great satisfaction in closing the bathroom door on it. “Keith, you asshole!” he hollers through the door; Keith laughs as he gets into the shower. 

James is sitting on his bed, playing on his phone, when Keith comes back into the room. “You up for a day at the beach?” he asks, not looking up, but his voice is very obviously casual. Keith frowns. “Considering the beach is private?”

He knows what James is getting at. If Shiro is staying in their hotel, there’s a higher chance of running into him on the beach since it’s limited only to hotel guests. There won’t be thousands of people crowding the white sand to hide him from view. “I can handle it, Jamie. I froze yesterday because it was such a shock. If I see him again, I’ll deal.”

James gives him a measured look, eyes narrowed slightly, and Keith stares back, eyes flinty. After two years of friendship, and their ill-fated four month relationship, they’ve nearly perfected nonverbal communication. After a few moments, James sighs and swings his legs off the bed. “I’ll brush my teeth while you get ready.”

Keith nods, sliding on a pair of deep amethyst trunks and picking up the black t-shirt from the night before, sniffing it. He didn’t spill anything on it and it smells fine, so he decides it will work for their casual day. 

“You ready?” James asks as he exits the bathroom, and Keith nods. To hell with Shiro. Whether he’s there or not, Keith is going to have a great day. 

Or so he tries to convince himself as he follows James from their room.

\-----

As it turns out, they have a pleasantly Shiro-free day. Keith even gets to the point where he stops looking for Shiro every thirty seconds. It extends out into a minute, five minutes, ten minutes, an hour. He swims, bakes in the sun with his sunglasses on and another fruity drink at his side, and yells at James when the former dumps a bucket of sand on his stomach. They run down the beach, James hollering apologies over his shoulder until Keith overtakes him, tackling him into the sand and shoving his face into it for a brief second. James comes up sputtering and glares; Keith grins down at him, thoroughly enjoying himself and having forgotten, for a few minutes at least, that Shiro is even on the same island.

When they’re done lounging around, James talks Keith into taking a trip into town. They wander through some of the kitschy shops and James buys too many souvenirs for his mom and brother, while Keith looks on in interest at the artisans in the outdoor market stalls. James magnanimously buys him an ice cream cone, which makes Keith feel guilty for pushing his face into the sand. James teases him for being boring and getting strawberry; Keith feels less guilty because James really is kind of an asshole.

At one point, James slides an arm around Keith’s shoulders, talking through a mouthful of peanut butter chocolate mousse. “You know, if we hadn’t broken up a month ago, I’d probably be trying to get into your trunks right now,” he muses, and Keith snorts, pushing him away via a hand to the face.

“That’s how we got together in the first place,” Keith reminds him dryly. “Let’s not try for round two. You’re not all of a sudden going to become a model boyfriend just because we’re on a romantic island getaway.”

“I could have been,” James tells him, and Keith’s about to mock him when he realizes James is dead serious. 

Keith blinks at him. “You’re the one who broke up with me, remember? You’re the one who told me you weren’t ready to settle down.”

James leans in, bumping his shoulder against Keith’s and giving him a rueful half-smile. “You know me better than that. You’ve seen me in relationships.”

Now that he thinks about it, James’ insistence that he needed time to be young and wild and carefree had struck a false note with him at the time. When they’d become friends, James was just getting out of a year-long relationship and had been broken-hearted over it. In the year and a half between then and their own relationship, he’d had two semi-long-term boyfriends. Those had ended more amicably, but not for lack of commitment.

“Why did you lie to me?” Keith asks, realization finally dawning.

James stays silent for a few moments, eyebrows drawn together in thought while he chews the last bite of his cone. “You weren’t happy,” he says eventually. “I could see that being with me wasn’t really what you wanted. I decided to let you go instead of keeping you trapped in a relationship that would have eventually ruined our friendship.” He gives Keith another grin, though this one is self-deprecating and doesn’t reach his eyes. “You were too important to me to risk losing over my ego.”

Keith doesn’t know what to say, so he stares at James as he comes to a halt. James half-turns, his lips quirked, and walks backward. “You didn’t love me, though,” Keith protests faintly, and James shrugs.

“No, I didn’t. Not like that, anyway. But you’re my best friend, and I would have done anything I could to make you happy. Unfortunately, I’m not Shiro, so I never had a chance of being that person for you.”

“That’s not fair,” Keith snaps. “Shiro and I broke up three years ago. You can’t pin everything on him.”

James pats him on the shoulder as he catches up. “I’m not trying to. But we both know you’ve never gotten over him. No one else will really ever measure up until you do.”

Keith’s shoulders drop at the truth. “I guess that means I’m going to be alone for the rest of my life,” he mutters. Not that that would have been such an unappealing thought, five years ago. But four and a half years ago, Shiro happened. The idea of being alone never felt right after that. Shiro filled so much of his life that the idea of living without him was unfathomable.

Regrettably, he’d been forced to learn how to live without his other half. He’d felt incomplete ever since.

“That’s the spirit,” James snipes sarcastically, and Keith makes a face at him, but it’s half-hearted. “Come on, this took a massive downward spiral. Let’s go back to the hotel, get cleaned up, and have a completely self-indulgent dinner at that snooty rich-people restaurant, with a lot of whiskey on the rocks.”

Keith snorts; one of the things he’s always appreciated about James is his ability to turn Keith’s mood around. He attributes it to the fact that James is a perfect combination of Keith and Shiro, with Keith’s seriousness and Shiro’s levity, in turns. Or, well, Shiro’s levity before the accident.

James brightens, ruffling Keith’s hair and darting away when Keith takes off after him. Keith gives himself over to the chase, trying to forget everything they’ve just talked about. After all, a gorgeous island at sunset isn’t the time for realizing that his future looms, bleakly, alone.

\-----

He’s feeling better by the time they make it to the restaurant. It’s officially associated with the hotel, but it’s still next door, so it feels like an actual dining out experience. It’s not that he honestly cares, but James had insisted that they not spend any more time in the hotel than they had to, so he figures this counts.

“Sirs, your table will be ready in a few minutes,” the hostess tells them, giving them a warm smile. James takes the opportunity to slip away to the restroom, leaving Keith to stand there by himself. It wouldn’t be so bad, but he feels awkward in his suit, which he hasn’t worn in years. The last time he wore it, actually, was at Shiro’s promotion ceremony when he made captain. 

He knows the inky black of the suit flatters him, and the dark red of his dress shirt stands out sharply against it. He’d taken the time to tie his unruly hair back into a low, sleek ponytail, and James had tossed aside his plain black tie in exchange for his own gold silk one, held in place with a black pearl tie tack. He wears matching black pearl cufflinks; he’d protested at first, feeling ridiculous, but James had insisted that if he looks absolutely devastating, he’ll get hit on and therefore his mood will improve. He carefully didn’t mention that it might help Keith get over the idea that he’s going to die alone, but both knew he was thinking it. 

Keith refuses to admit that James was at least partially right. He feels good, and he’s caught several people eyeing him appreciatively. Not that it matters, even a little, but he reasons he might at least be able to find someone to take his mind off Shiro for a few hours.

He catches sight of someone familiar in his peripheral view, and when he turns he recognizes Jake from the bar the night before. Jake sees him at almost the same time and alarm flares in his eyes.

Keith’s confused as Jake makes his way over. “I need you to forget everything I told you last night,” he hisses under his breath, and Keith blinks.

“Is there a problem?”

“Let’s just say I don’t want my boyfriend to know how much I told you about our relationship,” he confesses, and Keith gets that, at least.

Nodding, he looks toward the restroom for James, almost desperate for a savior from an acquaintance he would rather not have made. 

Jake glances over his shoulder and pastes a smile on his face. “Hey, honey. This is my friend Keith. He’s the one who helped me get back to our room last night.”

Keith shifts a little to greet Jake’s boyfriend, and feels the bottom drop out of his stomach. “Shiro.”

“Keith?” Shiro looks worse than Keith felt when he first laid eyes on him. His skin pales, his stormcloud eyes wide and panicked. Keith feels like someone turned a blender on in his stomach, but Shiro looks like someone punched a fist through his.

Jake glances back and forth between them. “You already know each other?”

Keith swallows; Shiro fumbles for his words. “Uh, yeah. We, um, worked together. A long time ago.”

He tunes out Shiro’s explanation, knowing that at no point will it contain the words “boyfriend” or “we were going to get married”. Instead, he tries to rein in his greedy, hungry stare, not allowing himself to sweep his gaze up and down Shiro’s broad, muscular frame. It’s wrapped in a tantalizing charcoal suit which deepens the silver of his reciprocal stare, paired with a plum-colored button-down. The overall effect is significantly more devastating than Keith’s managed to achieve, and he wants to spend the rest of the night studying every inch of him, worshiping him, re-learning him.

“Hey, baby, sorry I took so long.”

Keith blinks, jerked out of his fantasies when James joins them, sliding his arm around Keith’s waist and leaning into him, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. Keith’s so stunned by the rapid turn of events that he can’t even bring himself to give James a  _ what the fuck are you doing?  _ look. 

“Hey, babe,” he finds himself responding automatically, and he can feel James nudging him in approval. He doesn’t miss the way Shiro’s eyes dart from him to James, taking in their positions. He refuses to hope that the look that flashes through his eyes is disappointment. “This is Jake, the guy I told you about from last night. And his boyfriend, Shiro.” He swallows, giving Shiro a bitter look. “Shiro and I worked together a few years ago.”

James slips his thumb under the edge of Keith’s suit jacket, stroking it against his side. It’s as much a comforting gesture as it is a claiming one, and Keith’s brain is still spinning, but he’s starting to understand James’ behavior. Shiro looks like he’s swallowed his tongue, Jake’s a combination of confusion and suspicion, and James, bless him, has affected a blithely carefree expression.

“It’s nice to meet you both,” he says, but it’s airy and dismissive, insincere. “We’ll all have to catch up later.” Keith knows him well enough to hear the  _ over my dead body _ in his tone. “But we’re here to celebrate our anniversary and if you don’t mind, I’d like to keep my boyfriend to myself tonight.” He gives Shiro and Jake an unapologetic look, tugging Keith closer to his side. 

“Gentlemen, your table is ready,” the hostess announces, and James lets go of his waist to grab his hand, lacing their fingers together and tugging Keith into the dining area. Keith can’t help but glance back over his shoulder, and the bewildered, longing look on Shiro’s face rips at him.

_ He broke up with you. He  _ destroyed _ you. Fuck him and whatever regret he might be feeling.  _

Once they’re out of the lobby, James drops his hand. “Would you rather just go back to the hotel?” he asks gently, and Keith shakes his head. He can handle this. He’s a big boy, and it’s been three years. He might have to keep reminding himself of it, but it’s no less true.

He wouldn't say that dinner goes well, but it goes better than it could have. Shiro doesn't leave his mind for an instant, but God or the universe is semi on his side for once, and Shiro and Jake must be seated on the other side of the restaurant. They're not in Keith's line of vision, at any rate, and it helps.

James, being the fantastic friend he is, doesn't try to distract Keith with nonsense. He doesn't try to pretend none of that awful experience just happened. He also doesn't fawn over Keith or ask him a hundred times if he's okay. Keith isn't, and they both know it, and James mercifully doesn't draw attention to it. 

Keith thinks, not for the first time, that it's unfair he met Shiro first. If he hadn't, he might have actually had a chance at falling in love with James and therefore at having a successful relationship. As it is, he doesn’t think there’s a man in the universe who wouldn’t be eclipsed by the memory of Takashi Shirogane.


	2. Chapter 2

He loses track of time on the beach. He likes being out here in the evening, when everyone else has gone indoors or to the bars or wherever. The beach is empty, with just a touch of warmth remaining from the sun as it sinks slowly into the horizon, growing darker and more chilly the further down it dips.

The cool air nips at his skin, bared as it is in a tank top and shorts, but Keith doesn’t mind. The endless roll of the waves, watching the water recede before crashing back in, has mesmerized him to the point that he doesn’t feel much on the outside. He only wants to sit there until the pull of the ocean draws out all his stress and tension, leaving him loose-limbed and malleable. 

He thinks he might get there, until he’s interrupted by the person sinking down next to him on the white sand. His shoulders tense, drawing up to his chin, and he shoves his fingers into the sand, curling them through until he’s gripping fistfuls of it. 

They sit for several minutes, neither of them speaking, and Keith forces his breathing from something shallow and half-panicked into something calmer, steadier. “Why are you here?” he asks finally. “Did you follow me?”

Shiro shifts beside him. “No. I came here for what I’m sure are the same reasons you did. But when I saw you sitting all alone, I couldn’t… I couldn’t ignore you. I couldn’t pretend I didn’t see you.”

He’d known that would happen, should Shiro ever be the one to see him first. “You should have. You should have kept walking.” He tries, honestly, but he can’t keep the bitterness out of his tone. 

Shiro flinches, but doesn’t say anything. Keith keeps breathing beside him, shifting his fingers through the now-cold sand, digging deep. “It’s beautiful out here,” Shiro comments eventually, and Keith carefully doesn’t look at him as he lifts his gaze, staring out at the water. “It’s not quite like space, but almost. The ocean is as infinite as the stars.”

“But it’s not the same as being out among them,” Keith finishes, and he can almost feel Shiro’s nod. “Why are you here?” he asks again, but this time he doesn’t mean on the beach, with Keith. Shiro clearly understands.

“Jake and I broke up,” he says, and the honesty--not to mention the news itself--shocks Keith a little. “We wanted to get away for a couple weeks, away from the stresses of daily life and our jobs and our friends. We hoped--or maybe I should say Jake hoped--that we’d fall in love again.”

“But you didn’t, obviously.”

He shakes his head, letting out a dry, unamused half-laugh. “No. The night before we left, he asked me to move in with him when we got home, after I had just finished telling him that I’d gotten a job offer in another state. I knew then that we’d never make it. I shouldn’t have even come on this trip, but I wanted to give him this one last thing. A happy memory before it all ended. I managed to screw that up, too.”

Keith doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything. This seems to be one of those conversations that goes in fits and starts, instead of flowing smoothly. He can be patient enough to let it. “I don’t know why I’m here.”

“I thought you and your boyfriend were here for your anniversary?” His voice is halting, pained, and Keith considers keeping up the lie, just to hurt him.

“Jamie and I broke up almost a month and a half ago,” he confesses instead, and he doesn’t think he imagines the sensation of Shiro sagging next to him, as if the tension holding him like taut strings has been snipped. “We’d already paid for the trip, and we’ve been best friends for years. We decided to make the best of it and take the vacation anyway. We both needed it. But that still doesn’t explain why I agreed. I couldn’t tell you why I did.”

Shiro’s quiet; Keith waits. “Whatever your reasons, I’m glad you did,” he whispers, and Keith wraps his arms around his body, trying not to shatter, trying to keep himself from flying apart. He bites his tongue so hard he tastes blood. The tears dry before they slip over his lashes. “I’m…” He trails off, and Keith knows what he’s going to say; he dreads it, wants to scream, beg,  _ plead _ with Shiro not to let that single word leave his lips. “I’m sorry,” he finishes, and Keith’s arms tighten a little more, the blood from his tongue flows a little freer, and the tears well again, pushing over his lower lids. He dips his head, trying to hide them.

“I don’t care,” he spits, when he feels more in control. His arms tremble, he swallows the blood, and he wipes away the tears. “I don’t care that you’re sorry. I don’t care that you’re here. It’s not enough.”

Shiro sags a little further, and Keith takes vicious, vindictive pleasure in the fact that he’s managed to hurt him. “I fucked up,” he murmurs. “When we broke up. I fucked up big time.”

“You think?” Keith scoffs, forcing down the instinctive need to put his arms around Shiro and tell him that they can fix it, no matter what. “And I’m going to correct you there. We didn’t break up. You fled like a fucking coward.”

Flinching, Shiro finally turns to face him. “How did you know?” he asks, eyes blinking wide. “I never told you why I broke up with you.”

Rolling his eyes, recognizing that they’re finally going to have this conversation three years too late, Keith shifts until he’s facing Shiro, too. “You did, actually, but it was a lie. You told me you didn’t think we had a future, that we weren’t compatible enough to stick it out long-term. Like the year and a half we’d already spent together wasn’t a good enough indicator all on its own. Then, just to force the lie home enough to make me run away, you told me you couldn't imagine loving me enough.”

Color floods Shiro’s cheeks, barely visible in the half-light from the sun which has almost completely disappeared. Keith wants to take pleasure in Shiro’s shame, but it feels empty.  _ He _ feels empty. “I knew from the moment you spouted all that bullshit at me that you were lying your ass off. I’m not stupid, Shiro. I know you too well.”

“Then tell me,” Shiro snaps, bitterness flooding his words like poison. “Tell me why I broke up with you. Since you’re so fucking smart.”

“You broke up with me because you gave up on yourself!” Keith shouts, and the words are entirely too loud on the too-quiet beach. Shiro reels back like Keith’s slapped him. “You lost your arm and you thought you weren’t good enough for me anymore, and you pushed me away because you were afraid I’d leave you instead. Because you’re an asshole who proved you didn’t fucking know me at all!”

He can’t hold the tears back anymore and they choke him, turning his voice watery, his throat tight and aching. His chest heaves; he hasn’t moved at all but he feels like he’s run for miles without pause. 

Shiro looks at him, and his expression is so sorrowful that Keith wants to hide, wants to take back every word he’s just spewed in anger. “You’re wrong, Keith,” Shiro tells him, and his voice is so impossibly gentle, like he’s afraid his words will break Keith. “I pushed you away because I knew if I didn’t, you’d  _ never _ leave me.”

Keith stares at him. “Why would you want me to?” he whispers, and the words feel like broken glass he’s forced to swallow down. 

Sitting back, Shiro looks out at the ocean again, bracing himself on the prosthetic that Keith pointedly hasn’t looked at. It had been a bone of contention between them, one of the first but not the last, until Shiro had closed himself off and forced Keith out of his life. 

“You got the first part of it right,” Shiro says softly, and Keith has to race to think back over everything he’d said--yelled, actually. “I gave up on myself. But I knew you never would. You’d have ruined your entire future to stay with me and help me recover. You’d have put your whole life on hold to be there for me instead. I couldn’t… I couldn’t let you do that. I couldn’t watch you give up everything for me.”

Keith can’t even tell Shiro he’s lying; he’d been prepared to do just that. He’d been offered a mission not long after Shiro’s accident, and had turned it down without a second thought. Shiro was still in bad enough shape that Keith couldn’t fathom leaving him.

He lifts a hand, watching detachedly as sand dribbles from it, white as sugar and twice as soft, leaving a fine powder on his fingers. “I wanted to,” he says, and Shiro shifts again. “You meant more to me than anything, Shiro. And it was my decision to make, not yours. If I would have rather spent every day of my life taking care of you than ever fly a plane again, that was  _ my decision.” _

“I know,” Shiro chokes, and Keith glances down to see Shiro’s hand digging into the sand beside his. “I took that choice from you like my arm was taken from me. I’ve regretted it nearly every day since.”

Keith can’t answer him, can’t come up with any words that will in any way be an adequate response. Shiro doesn’t seem to expect one, and they sit in silence until Keith’s ass is cold and numb and he can’t stand the silence a second longer. “What are you going to do now?”

The words seem to startle Shiro, after such a long period of utter stillness, and he stiffens beside Keith. “I haven’t completely decided, but… I think I’m going to take the job offer.” 

Keith nods, the gesture jerky and stilted. “Good for you.” He stands, and Shiro’s eyes dart to him, dismayed. “I need to be heading back inside now, but…” He almost says,  _ it was good to see you _ , but he doesn't. He and Shiro both know he wouldn’t mean it.

Shiro lifts himself up as well, dusting the sand off his backside, and Keith is only so strong. His gaze drifts to Shiro’s hands, then up to his face, and Shiro’s eyes soften as he steps a little closer, arms dropping to his sides. “Keith…”

Keith steps back quickly, heart hammering as a scowl settles firmly into place. “This isn’t that kind of story, Shiro,” he grits out. “We’re not the people who find their way back to each other on a romantic island. We don’t get a happily ever after.”

His expression turns stricken, and for a brief flicker of a second, Keith feels like an asshole. “I wish… I wish I hadn’t ruined everything,” Shiro murmurs, and Keith wants to yell that he wishes that, too. “I think we could have had that happily ever after. I think we could have been great.”

“We  _ were _ great,” Keith counters, and he wants to stay angry, but he can’t. Not when he’s beyond bone-tired and feels the crushing weight of  _ what might have been _ on his shoulders. “But I guess we’ll never know what that happily-ever-after had in store for us. Will we?”

He can feel Shiro’s misery like a stone around his neck even as he runs as fast and as far from it as he possibly can. He thinks he could run forever and still never be rid of it, but for his own sanity, he has to try.

\-----

He doesn't want to tell James about running into Shiro, but James takes one look at his face and demands he spill all. 

James listens to it in silence, hums consideringly for a few moments, then says, “So my takeaway from this is that he broke up with his longtime boyfriend less than two hours after running into you for the first time in three years.”

Keith stares at him, because he hadn't even considered that, and hadn't expected James’ initial thoughts to be anywhere in the realm of, “Maybe you two still have a chance.”

“He’s moving to a different state to take a new job,” Keith protests. “You cannot possibly be thinking we should get back together.”

James shrugs, turning his focus to his wardrobe for the day with a critical eye. “Do what you want, Keith, but I've known you for too long. You still love him, and from what you've told me, he still loves you. There are jobs in every state. He can find a job in Arizona. Hell, he could probably find a job at the Garrison. Iverson would welcome him back. And if it comes down to it, I'm sure you could find a job in whatever state Shiro is moving to.”

“He just got out of a relationship,” Keith reminds him, grouchy. 

Rolling his eyes, James finally selects a shirt and throws it on, buttoning all but the top two buttons. “You've heard from both sides exactly how that relationship was going. From the sounds of it, he's been one foot out the door for a long time. It's not going to be an emotional hindrance.”

“Do you really think it's a smart idea for me to throw myself at the man who fucking left me? He has my number. If he'd been that broken up over what he did, he could have called.”

“Please,” James snorts. “You're a vindictive and unforgiving little shit. He was probably terrified to call.”

On this, at least, James is not wrong. 

“You assume I’m going to have an opportunity to turn things around,” Keith counters, trying to shrug as if he’s unconcerned. “Considering how hard I was on him and the way I left last night, I doubt I’ll see him again before we leave.”

“You saw him three times in less than a day and a half,” James points out. “And now he knows you’re here. Something tells me he’s going to make sure he finds you.”

“If he does, he’s a glutton for punishment.”

James smirks at him. “You know that Shiro never met a challenge he couldn’t defeat. He’s not going to give up on you.”

Uncomfortable with the sudden intense turn of the conversation, Keith throws on a pair of board shorts and a towel over his shoulder. “Let’s go get drunk and try not to drown, okay? And forget about Shiro.”

“Whatever you say.” Keith ignores the knowing grin James throws at him.

They do an admirable job of succeeding at Keith’s first objective. They fail miserably at the second.

“I still think you should talk to him,” James announces, loudly, as he trips and stumbles into the moat Keith dug out around his towel. He ends up on one knee, his foot jammed into the watery ditch at an awkward angle, and his other foot shoved into the sand up to his ankle. Keith peers at him over the rim of his sunglasses, vision swimming from one too many of those fruity blue drinks the beach attendants keep providing.

“Don’t wanna,” he grumbles, shoving the sunglasses up over his eyes and flopping back onto the rainbow-colored towel that James had insisted on bringing for him. “‘Sides, ‘s not like I’m ever gonna find him again.”

James gives up on trying to extricate himself from the sand trap, leaning forward until he’s on both knees, then collapses onto his stomach. His feet lurch up out of the sand and it sprays everywhere, including on Keith, who lets out an outraged squawk. A wet clump from the moat lands on his thigh and he grabs it, flinging it at James and missing by a wide margin.

James ignores him. “You’re a pes’mist, Keithy,” he slurs, pointing an accusing finger at Keith. “Most people would love the idea of getting back together with their ex on a romantic island vacation. You’re getting a second chance. Don’t fuck it up.”

“Already did,” Keith reminds him, and he doesn’t know if he’s sad about it or not, so he lets his voice remain flat. “I made it clear last night that he fucked up, bad, and that’s where it ends for us. Just leave it alone, Jamie. Please.”

“Fuck, you’re calling me Jamie again. You must be serious.” James struggles into a sitting position and Keith fleetingly wonders what Kinkade, Rizavi, and Leifsdottir would say if they could see their normally straight-laced commanding officer completely shit-faced and flailing all over the beach. He’s tempted to take a video for blackmail purposes, in case James doesn’t get the hint about backing off. “You make my head hurt, Keith. You’re determined to be miserable and alone when there are so many people who love you.”

Keith’s eyes widen as James manages to gather his feet under him and stands, albeit a little wobbly. He lifts his chin and stares down his nose at Keith. “I need to go find a bathroom before I throw up on the beach. Stay. If you know how.”

Keith scowls as James stumbles down the beach, looking for the entrance that leads into the hotel. Of all the things he’d said, that’s the one which hurts the most. Keith is always the one who stays. It’s the other people who leave  _ him _ .

He’s not sure how long he sits there, brooding, when he gets smacked in the back of the head with something thin and hard. One hand automatically lifts to cover the injured area, and his eyes dart around to see a pink and white frisbee on the blanket just behind his hip.

“I’m so sorry,” someone says breathlessly, running up to Keith, and he squints up at the silhouette of a very tall, broad-shouldered person against the backdrop of the blinding sun. “Oh, shit. Keith. Um.”

Shiro. Of fucking course.

“Sorry, again,” Shiro apologizes, and he holds out his hand. Keith blinks at him for a moment as the brightness of the sun fades until he can actually see Shiro’s face. It’s awkward, and a little expectant, and Keith realizes Shiro doesn’t want to step over the moat to get back his frisbee. Keith snags it and hands it over wordlessly, and Shiro does a half-grimace, half-smile. “Thanks.”

He turns to leave, and James’ words flash through his mind.  _ You’re getting a second chance. Don’t fuck it up. _

“Shiro, wait,” he blurts out, and Shiro stops instantly, shifting his stance until he’s facing Keith again. Keith licks his lips; there’s still sand on them from when James showered him in it. “Please don’t go.” 

Shiro studies him, his face not giving away anything. “Hang on a second,” he says finally, and disappears. When he returns minutes later, he has his towel and bag, and is minus the frisbee. “I had to give the frisbee back.”

“You got corralled into playing with strangers?” Keith asks, fighting back the fond grin. It’s not the least bit surprising that someone invited him to hang out with them without even knowing him.

Shiro nods. “Couple of girls here on vacation. They asked me to play with them.”

“Am I keeping you?” He’s hesitant to ask, knowing that Shiro would probably rather be anywhere else. Shiro shakes his head, lips pressed together, and the silence that falls is strange. “Thank you for coming back,” Keith tells him, and it’s even more awkward, and he’s cursing himself. He should have just let Shiro go, like Shiro let him go years before. Nothing good will come of this, despite James’ insistence that Keith should try again. “I, uh. I was really an asshole to you last night.”

“Nothing I didn’t deserve,” Shiro concedes, voice even, and Keith wants to punch something in frustration. He’d spent a year and a half watching Shiro give people that coolly polite facade, and never once had it been turned on him. He hates how it feels. 

“True. What you did was the ultimate dick move, and we both know it. But I got to bitch at you and get it out of my system. There's no reason to keep hanging on to it.” Something like hope starts to cross Shiro's face, so he takes a deep breath and plunges on. “I’d like to leave here with good memories of you instead of carrying around the bad ones.”

It’s uncomfortably honest, but Shiro has always been the only one he could be that honest with.

Shiro gives him a tentative smile. “I’d like that, too.”

They fall quiet, but this time it’s a companionable silence. Keith catches sight of James approaching, but he stops and smiles when he sees Shiro. James gives him a wink before spinning on his heel, then promptly stumbling to his knees in the sand; Keith can’t hold back a snort.

Shiro raises an eyebrow, and his glance flickers to follow Keith’s line of sight. The smile dims when his gaze lands on James. “So, you and Griffin. How did that happen? The last thing I remember of him is the two of you nearly getting expelled for punching the hell out of each other when you were nineteen.”

The memory makes Keith smile a little; he hardly ever thinks about their less-than-auspicious beginnings. “The semester after you and I… ended, Jamie and I were paired together in a class. I was ranked first, he was second, and Montgomery thought if we taught each other how to improve in our weakest areas, we could really challenge each other for top spot. By the end of the semester, we’d become friends. By the end of the next, we were best friends. We’ve pretty much been inseparable ever since.”

“Jamie, huh?” Shiro comments, and he sounds like he’s trying to tease, but his face pinches. 

“When we were dating, he didn’t like it when I called him James. Said it felt like a name for a C.O., too formal for a boyfriend. I started calling him Jamie.” Keith shrugs. “We broke up, but it keeps slipping out. Habit.”

Shiro’s face relaxes. “So you guys are close?”

“The only person I’ve ever been closer to is you.” Shiro’s expression warms and Keith continues hurriedly, afraid of just how warm it might get. “He’s loyal. Once you’re his, you’re his forever. Then again, our breakup was pretty amicable, so there weren’t any hard feelings.”

“I’m glad. That you had that experience.” He’s a little wistful, and Keith knows he must be thinking about their own breakup and how it was the exact opposite of amicable. “He sounds like you, in a way. With the loyalty.”

Keith doesn't answer for a few moments. He knows this is the point where he has to decide what he wants; Shiro may have been the one to break up with him, but it's clear he's regretted it. Keith is the one who's been angry over it for years, and he has to choose now if he's going to let it define them going forward. Shiro obviously wants to fix what's been broken. 

Taking a quiet, steadying breath, he lays his hand on Shiro's where it's placed on the blanket between them. He keeps his gaze forward when he says, “James was a good experience. I'm lucky to have him in my life. But he's not you, he's never been you, and I would have given up everything I had with him to have never lost you in the first place.”

Shiro's fingers curl, his knuckles slipping between Keith's fingertips, and Keith can feel the way he relaxes on an exhale. 

Maybe they don't have a future. But they can have now. 

\-----

“Are you sure you don't mind me ditching out on you?” Keith asks, staring at his reflection in the mirror and the way James fusses with his hair. 

“Of course not.” He swipes something vaguely gel-like and purple-tinted through the top of it. Keith decides he's better off not watching any more. “He's the love of your life. When are you going to get another chance like this?”

_ I won't,  _ he thinks, and the thought could be bleak, but he rejects that interpretation. He and Shiro each have lives they're going back to, and he knows this vacation is all they can ever have. But it's better than always remembering Shiro as the ex who broke his heart. 

James isn't put off by his lack of a response; he likely had never expected one in the first place. “There, you look perfect.”

Keith doesn't care. Shiro never has, either. “Thanks,” he says anyway, because he's at least gotten better at social niceties. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Drinking, and probably dancing. There's a club down the beach that's all open-air, and it looked fun when I was exploring earlier.”

Keith feels slightly guilty. “I'm abandoning you for the second time today.”

Rolling his eyes, James heads over to the closet to pick out his outfit for the evening. “You didn't abandon me at all. It was my choice to leave earlier, and I'm the one encouraging you to go out now. I'm an adult, Keith, I can handle doing things on my own.”

“I know you can, but you shouldn’t have to. We came here together.”

James surveys several of his choices before selecting a tight-fitting scarlet tank top with slashes cut into it, and a pair of slim black pants. Keith wants to protest on principle, but James has always been the one who cares about his appearance. He supposes that if James thinks that’s an acceptable outfit, it must be. 

James catches his doubtful stare. “Don’t give me that look, Keithy. The entire goal tonight is for both of us to get laid. I’m showing off my assets to achieve said goal. You’re lucky, all you have to do is show up and Shiro will be all yours. Some of us have to try a little harder.”

“I’m not fucking Shiro tonight.” He sighs, wanting to flop back on his bed but knowing James will yell at him if he messes up his hair. “This isn’t about that.”

“Please,” James snorts caustically, pinning Keith with a knowing smirk. “I’ve heard the stories. He had his dick in you in under twenty minutes of meeting you for the first time. You have no self-control when it comes to him.”

Grumbling, Keith throws a pillow at him. “And how would you know this? You’ve never actually seen me around him.”

“I don’t need to. I’ve heard everything I need to know from people who witnessed the entire tragedy first-hand.” Keith winces and James stops talking, biting his lip. “I’m sorry. I was trying to fuck with you, not actually hurt you.”

“I know, Jamie. I get it. The accident and our breakup were all anybody could talk about for months.” He tries to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but he’s only partially successful. He hates to this day that his entire life was gossip fodder for people who’d never even met him.

James, finally finished getting dressed, grabs his hand and pulls him up off the bed. “Come on, let’s go. I don’t want you taking a trip down angsty memory lane. You’re supposed to meet Shiro in ten, anyway.”

“You can take the cadet out of the Garrison, but not the Garrison out of the cadet,” Keith teases. James’ need for punctuality had always been a sore spot between them; rather, Keith’s refusal to recognize a time clock and James’ endless exasperation over it had always been a sore spot. “Besides, Shiro won’t expect me to be on time.”

“So surprise him,” James suggests, tone dry as the Arizona desert. “And me, while you’re at it.”

“You're an asshole,” he grumbles, but there's no heat to it. He's too used to the good-natured teasing to be bothered by it anymore. 

James smirks. “You are what you eat.” 

Keith doesn't choke, but it's a close thing. He makes a face at James, who ignores it in favor of flipping off the light switch as he herds Keith out the door in front of him. 

\-----

“Hey.” 

Shiro looks up from his phone at Keith's greeting, and Keith hates to be cliche, but his mouth really does go a little dry at the beauty of the man in front of him. He's dressed in a simple, but still unfairly handsome, combination of black slacks and a deep gray polo. Shiro had always had a habit of wearing gray and black for his civilian clothes; Keith had teased that it was because he knew how devastatingly sexy he looked in them. Shiro had always colored a little bit and protested that it was only because they were monochromatic and easy to pair. Fashion was even less his thing than it was Keith's. 

Keith wonders now if Shiro's choice in clothing is more of the same, or an effort to look good for him. He isn't sure which one would make him feel better and which worse, so he dismisses the thought and focuses his appreciation on the way the slacks hug Shiro's glorious ass. 

“Hey, yourself.” Shiro's voice is as warm as his smile, both of which send a little shiver up Keith’s spine. Shiro has always had a devastating effect on him; just because it’s been three years doesn’t mean that effect has disappeared. “I’m glad you showed up.”

“Did you think I was going to ditch out on you?” he asks, and it’s only slightly pointed. Shiro draws back anyway, spine stiffening. “I said I’d be here, Shiro.”

Shiro tucks his hands in his pockets, and Keith’s gaze is drawn toward the metal one yet again. “I know, Keith. I didn’t mean to imply you wouldn’t. I’m just glad you agreed to come at all.” His smile is a little melancholy, a little wistful. “I know I’m not exactly your favorite person.”

Keith wars with himself for a moment before inhaling sharply. “Let’s get this out of the way so we can stop dancing around it, okay? I loved you. I loved you more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my entire life, before or since, and you destroyed me for the most bullshit of reasons. But it was a long time ago, and we’re different people now. I’ve gotten over it. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have extended the olive branch. So please let it go and stop torturing both of us with it.”

Shiro blinks at him, eyes a little wide, and Keith has to bite back an inappropriate laugh. Shiro looks like a startled deer, and Keith wonders if anyone has ever been so blunt with him, other than Keith himself. “I don’t know if I can let it go completely,” he admits, and Keith gives him points for honesty. “I’ve lived with that regret for three years, I can’t just discard it because you say I should. But I’ll try to stop letting it influence the way I treat you.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” Keith tells him, and Shiro smiles. “So. Please tell me you’re not taking me to dinner at the restaurant from last night. I’m seriously underdressed.”

Shiro chuckles, gesturing for Keith to precede him out of the hotel lobby. They step into the balmy island air and Keith closes his eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply as the slight breeze lifts his hair off the back of his neck, fluttering it gently before it settles back into place. The sun is on the verge of setting, and Keith is surprised that it isn’t later. It feels like so much has happened today.

“I was thinking about taking a walk and hitting up some of the food booths,” Shiro suggests, and Keith likes the idea. He’d rather be outside, breathing in fresh air and seeing what’s going on, than be stuck in a stuffy restaurant, trapped at a table. 

“Sounds good to me,” he agrees. 

Shiro’s hand comes to rest on his lower back as they walk, and Keith nearly stiffens, but he wills himself to relax and not let it be a big deal. Shiro used to touch him with a lot more familiarity than this; he can handle a casually intimate gesture. 

If he’s honest with himself, he’s more than happy to let Shiro touch him for the entire rest of the evening. He isn’t immune to Shiro’s nearness, to the memories that nearness invokes, and he wants to have this. Even if it’s just for tonight, he wants to remember how it felt to be loved by Shiro, to be held by him. He misses it, and he’s not willing to give up on this feeling now to save himself pain when he leaves.

They don’t talk at first. Keith thinks that maybe Shiro is having a hard time finding his words, knowing he’s been all but forbidden to bring up their past. Keith’s comfortable not speaking, since he was never the talker between them to begin with. He’s more than willing to enjoy the walk, the sunset, the sights and sounds of their environment, and let Shiro figure himself out in his own time.

It's at one of the stalls that Shiro breaks the ice again. There are little toys hanging from the poles holding up the canopy, and Shiro selects a stuffed lion, presenting it to Keith under the stallminder’s watchful eye. “Remember when you won me one of these at that fair in Plaht City? Everybody kept telling you the game was a scam and you'd spend less if you just bought the damn toy yourself.”

Keith smiles a little at the memory. “And then I won it during the first game. Jenkins was so pissed.”

“So was the booth attendant,” Shiro laughs, and Keith's stomach flutters a bit at the sound. It's been so long and he's missed it more than he'd realized. “He tried to goad you into giving it back by doing a ‘best of’ series.”

“And then I won all of them and he had to give me the lion that was almost as big as you,” Keith concludes, the grin widening. 

“That was the day all my friends were in utter awe of you for the first time,” Shiro tells him, and Keith rolls his eyes.

“Shattering all your records wasn't enough, apparently.”

Shiro's arm sneaks a little further around his waist; Keith pretends not to notice. “They were impressed with the records, but record-breaking happens. It hadn't been that long since I posted some of the ones you broke. But that was the first time they got to see you in action. You blew their minds.” His voice drops a bit when he adds, “Just like you'd already blown mine.”

It's not said in a way that invites a reaction. Keith knows Shiro wouldn't try to encourage one from him anyway; it's likely that he doesn't even think it will mean anything to him. Not at this point, at least, considering Keith has done his best to make it clear he's over Shiro. Even if it's a lie. 

“I never noticed,” he says instead. “I only ever cared what you thought. No one else mattered.”

Shiro's hand finds his hip, pulls him in. Keith lets him. “I wish I hadn't spent so much time caring what everyone else thought about me, when none of it ever mattered. You, though. I never stopped caring what you thought of me.”

He doesn't want to say it, but he does anyway. “Even after the breakup?”

Shiro flinches, face tight, eyebrows pinched together. “Especially after the breakup. I wanted to believe you didn't hate me.”

He doesn't know what the honest answer is. “I thought I did. Maybe it was because I wanted to, or needed to. But I'm not sure I ever really did.”

“You should have.”

The pain in Shiro's voice catches at his throat, rubs his heart raw like sandpaper. “Would it make you feel better if I did? Would you be able to forgive yourself if I told you I despised you, that I'd hated you every bit as much as you think you deserved to be hated?”

Shiro's skin has gone deathly pale, and Keith bites back the rest of the words sitting on the back of his tongue. “If I ever hated you, Shiro, it didn't last. It never could have. I loved you too deeply, and however much you hurt me, you were experiencing it ten times over.”

Shiro chokes out a watery, coughing laugh. “You've always given me more credit than I deserve.”

Keith brushes the remark aside with an impatience he's rarely felt with Shiro. “You were traumatized. You'd lost your arm, your career, the chance to be everything you'd spent your whole life dreaming of being. And despite how angry and miserable I was that you pushed me aside, I'm not so stupid that I didn't know you were every bit as devastated to lose me, too.”

Shiro gives up the pretense of subtlety and slips his arm around Keith's waist completely, coming to a stop so he can pivot and pull Keith into him. Keith doesn't hesitate to move into the embrace. He can feel Shiro's lips against his hair, and nestles his cheek against Shiro's chest. They don't speak for several moments, instead allowing themselves to bask in the feeling of being in each other's arms again. 

When Shiro pulls back, he doesn't release his hold on Keith. A rueful smile curves his lips. “Wasn't it just last night you were yelling at me about being a coward and an asshole?”

Keith glares at him, but it's tempered by the smile that twitches the corners of his mouth. “Yes. Because you deserved it, and I'd been bottling it up for three years. Doesn't mean I can't get over it.” He looks down, trying to sort his thoughts. “Seeing you again hurt. It brought it all back, and I wasn't prepared for all the feelings that came with it. But I don't blame you. Not anymore.”

Shiro pulls him back in, and Keith breathes in shakily when Shiro’s arms band around him more tightly than he ever remembered, and they stand there like that for what feels like an eternity, lost to the sights and sounds of the world around them. And Keith thinks,  _ fuck. I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with him again. _   



	3. Chapter 3

_ “Are you ever going to stop nagging me? Fuck, Keith, you sound like you're trying to be my mother!” _

_ Keith flinches, but pushes on despite Shiro's ire. “Commander Holt has an excellent prototype. He said it almost has the same capabilities as a human arm. You might not like the idea now, but wouldn't you rather have that than nothing?” _

_ Shiro swipes at his hair impatiently, but the gesture is awkward since he's using his left arm. “I'm sick to death of people staring at me, of their pity. Some futuristic robotic arm is only going to make it worse!” _

_ Keith takes a deep breath. This isn't the first argument they've had since the accident, and he's sure it won't be the last. “Shiro. You know I love you, and I don't care if you have one arm, two, or none at all. I'm not pushing you because I think you're lacking in any way. But I know you. You'll always feel like something is missing if you don't take the risk now.” _

_ Shiro's face twists into a scowl. “I took a risk. That's how I ended up with a goddamn stump. I'm not doing it, Keith, and that's final.” _

_ Keith scowls back. He loves Shiro more than his own life, but the man's more stubborn than anyone he's ever met.  _

_ Except Keith.  _

_ “Just think about it, Shiro. Commander Holt said you have another week to decide before he starts looking at other applicants. I promise I'll be there for you through it all, if you decide to do it. Appointments, tests, whatever you need.” He can hear the pleading edge creeping into his voice, but he's steadfast. This is a miracle opportunity for Shiro, and Keith's afraid he'll regret it for the rest of his life if he doesn't take it. _

_ Shiro flops back onto the couch, listing slightly to the side. His face darkens as he rights himself. “Didn't you get offered the Deimos mission? How are you going to take me to appointments if you're on the moon?” _

_ Keith stares at his lap. “I turned it down.” _

_ “YOU WHAT?” _

_ Keith startles, glancing up at Shiro. His eyes widen in shock at the utter fury on Shiro's face. “The timing wasn't right. Besides, they promised me there will be more missions. Something’s coming up next year that they want me to take, and I think I'll be ready by then.” _

_ “You're ready now.” _

_ “No, Shiro. I'm not.” His voice is quiet, but steady. Resolute.  _

_ Shiro stares at him. “I can't do this anymore.” _

_ He's afraid to hope. “Does that mean you'll talk to Commander Holt?” _

_ Shiro shakes his head. His face is blank as he clarifies, “I meant this, Keith. Us. I can't do it anymore.” _

_ Keith stares at him, uncomprehending. There's no way Shiro is breaking up with him. They were talking marriage only three months ago. “You're going to have to spell this one out for me. Because I know you don't mean what that just sounded like.” _

_ “You and I are over.” The words are clean, sharp. Emotionless. Heartbreaking. Devastating. “I've been thinking a lot about our relationship since… Since the accident. I didn't want to give up on what we had, but Keith, this isn't what I want anymore.” _

_ “You're lying.” He can't think, or feel anything but unimaginable pain, but that's the one thing he knows for sure. “You're lying, because you proposed to me three months ago. I know you're lying, because you  _ love _ me.” _

_ A flicker of emotion passes through his eyes, and Keith despises with every breath that it's pity. “I just don't love you enough. I can't imagine that I ever will.” _

_ Keith doesn't remember how he gets home. He doesn't remember the next week, mostly, as he spends it in an alcohol-induced fog. He wakes up in agony and doesn't know if it's from a broken heart or a hangover worse than death. It doesn't really matter which one.  _

_ When he sobers up, he's determined to make Shiro admit that he was lying, and why. He's determined to help Shiro through this crisis. Shiro loves him, and there has to be a reason for his completely un-Shiro-like behavior.  _

_ He searches for Shiro for days, but when he can't find a single clue as to his whereabouts, he gives in and goes to find Iverson. The commander is the only person who would possibly know where Shiro is at any given time.  _

_ Shiro, he's informed dispassionately, is gone.  _

\-----

He wakes, gasping, with James’ hand on his shoulder and a look of concern in his eyes. 

“Are you okay?” 

Keith blinks, dazed, trying to pull himself out of the fragmented half-reality of his dream--his  _ memories _ . “It was the breakup,” he rasps, shaking his head and working hard to bring his breathing back under control. “I'm fine.”

“Right.” James eyes him, doubtful, but Keith brushes it aside. 

“It was bound to happen after yesterday.” Surreptitiously, he wipes at the tears gathered in the corners of his eyes, but James’ sharp gaze catches the gesture. “I'm okay, Jamie. I promise.”

He softens at the nickname. “If he hurts you again, they'll never find his body.”

Keith barks out a half-laugh, reminded suddenly of James’ intense nature. He forgets, sometimes, since James had long ago dropped the arrogant, condescending behavior, at least around Keith. “I don't doubt it.”

“If you don't tell him that, I will,” James warns, but he relaxes. “Now tell me exactly what happened last night.”

Gesturing at James’ rumpled outfit from the night before, Keith teases, “Nothing as exciting as your night, I guarantee it.”

James rolls his eyes. “A hookup is nothing compared to getting another chance with the love of your life. Now spill.”

“There's nothing to spill.” Even if there was, he wouldn't have shared. “We walked around for awhile, ate, talked, and came back to the hotel.”

“You didn't even kiss?” James studies his face for any hint of a lie, skepticism plain on his own. 

“No.” Keith's pretty sure it wasn't for lack of desire on Shiro's part, and on his own, if he's being honest with himself. But starting down that road would only open him up to getting his heart broken all over again. For now, Keith just wants to look forward to a day when thinking about Shiro makes him smile instead of hurt.

James lets the short answer pass without comment, or even a judgy facial expression, which Keith appreciates. “For what it's worth, I think you'll regret it if you don't take the chance now, but it's your life.”

Keith nods in acknowledgement, and James drops it. “We still surfing this morning?” he asks, rifling through the dresser for something appropriate to wear under a wetsuit. 

“Affirmative.” Keith snorts. “We have a reservation with the instructor at eleven. Which means we need to be there at ten ‘til,” James reminds him, tone taking on a hint of warning. “They won't hold our spot if we show up late.”

Keith sighs, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I'll be ready on time.”

“There's a first time for everything,” James snarks, and Keith throws a towel at his face. 

They do show up at the surf shack on time, but just barely. James mock-glares as he points at the clock, which reads 10:59.

“Still not late,” Keith mutters. James ignores him. 

It's a beautiful day for surfing, and they spend a solid hour on the waves. James is a much better surfer than Keith is, but fortunately he's got enough experience that he doesn't have to spend the hour practicing on a board in the sand. His first couple lessons had been excruciatingly boring, learning the mechanics of jumping up on the board, how to plant his feet and keep his balance. The next few had consisted of falling off the board constantly, swallowing half the ocean, and getting smacked in the back of the head by the board on one painfully memorable occasion. 

Now, he can at least keep himself upright, and even competently rides the waves in the majority of the time. James has moved to the point of being able to do small tricks, and rides in ahead of Keith to steal one of his waves at one point. Keith laughs when the wave fizzles and drops James unceremoniously. 

“That's what you get,” he yells when James surfaces, smoothing his wet hair out of his face. 

“It looked like too much for you to handle,” James calls back. “I was saving you from yourself.”

Somehow, Keith gets the feeling that nothing will ever be able to save him from himself.

When the hour is up and they finally stumble onto shore, collapsing on their towels in a spray of sand, Keith feels loose-limbed and at peace. His muscles are sore and achy, but in that pleasant way that comes from solid physical activity. 

“You should make sure to get in another massage or something,” James suggests, after they've lain in silence for a few minutes. “You don't want to hobble around like an old man on your date tonight.”

“It's not a date.” He has to make himself believe it, anyway. Shiro's taking him to dinner, to a nice restaurant, and in any other reality it would absolutely be a date. Keith has to convince himself that this is just a meal between friends, to catch up. He can't let it be anything else. 

Sighing, James rolls over to face him. Keith tips his head to the side until he can see him in his peripheral view. “Are you ever going to be honest with yourself?” he asks, and his tone is unexpectedly sad. 

Keith doesn't want to acknowledge what he knows James is getting at, but he's tired of pretending. “I never stopped loving him, if that's what you're getting at. But it doesn't matter. We're going home the day after tomorrow, and Shiro is off to his new job in a new state. He has a new future ahead of him, and it's not with me. What's the point of trying to make this anything more than it is?”

“You never know.” James shoves gently at his shoulder. “Come on, let's get back to the hotel so we can wash off all this sand and salt water. I still think a massage is a good idea, date or no date.”

“You’re pushy,” Keith grumbles, but he pulls himself up and follows James back to the hotel.

\-----

Several hours later Keith's standing in the lobby, waiting for Shiro, and he has to admit James had the right idea, as usual. He feels fantastic, albeit nervous. Keith knows the evening is going to be a test of his self-restraint, because it's evident that Shiro is more than willing to romance him if he shows that he's open to it. And he wants to be romanced. 

In the end, however, a night or two together isn't worth the devastation it will bring him when he has to walk away. 

“Keith.” Shiro's voice comes in behind him, low and husky, and something curls through his belly. He remembers that voice from hundreds of nights in Shiro's arms, waking up to lips whispering over his neck, preceding groans as Shiro drove into him. “You look beautiful.”

He flushes a little as he turns. “I could say the same for you. Besides, this is the same suit I wore the other night.” He hadn't exactly packed so he could dress to impress. 

Shiro takes his hand, lifts it to his lips with a quirk of a smile. Heart pounding, Keith lets him. He can feel his resolve already crumbling, and he struggles to hold onto it. 

“True, but I wasn't in the right frame of mind to appreciate the view,” he reminds him, and Keith marvels at the humor in his voice, the sparkle in his warm gray eyes. That was, after all, the night he broke up with his long-term boyfriend. 

“I see,” he says instead, and Shiro cocks his head slightly, a quizzical look on his face. “Charming me out of my pants worked so well the first time that you've decided to give it another try.”

Shiro's eyes go dark until they look like molten steel. Keith fights back the instinct to swallow hard, and also the rising flame in his belly. “Will it work this time, too?”

Keith's eyes widen and Shiro watches him. When he doesn't say anything, Shiro lowers his hand. “I'm not going to push you into anything,” he says, and it's gentle, like he's trying to keep Keith from running. “But I need you to know I'll go wherever you want to take this. I missed three years with you, Keith, and it's the biggest regret of my life. I'm not going to miss a minute that you'll let me spend with you.”

“I can't give you the answer you're looking for,” Keith says, and he feels an ache at the way Shiro's face shutters to mask his disappointment. “But I'm here with you now because I want to be. I missed you, Shiro.”

He's always worn his heart on his sleeve with Shiro. Despite everything, he's comfortable slipping back into that same level of openness and honesty. 

Shiro breathes in, steadying himself, and smiles. “I missed you too, Keith,” he murmurs, and when he holds out his hand, Keith takes it. 

Neither one of them let go until the server escorts them to their table and they have to in order to sit down. “Would you like anything to drink?” she asks, after handing them menus and pointing out the drink insert. 

“I'll have a glass of the sauvignon blanc,” Shiro tells her, closing his menu. He looks at Keith, tilting his head in question, and Keith nods. “And merlot for my companion.” She nods and slips away. 

“Some things never change,” Keith comments with a wry smile. “White and red, just like always.”

“What can I say? It matches my hair.” It's flippant, but the corners of Shiro's eyes and mouth tighten. 

Keith's gaze flicks up to Shiro's bangs, which have graduated to pure white. The last time he saw them they were losing their color, like black clothes that had gone through the laundry a hundred times. The doctors had explained it was his body's way of handling the stress. Shiro had gone to the gym afterward and beaten a punching bag into sawdust. 

Keith had been pissed, since Shiro was still healing and he hadn't learned to compensate for the loss of his right arm. His left was strong, but not strong enough to withstand the abuse, and he'd ended up with a rotator cuff tear. 

He looks down enough to catch Shiro's eyes; from the look in them, Shiro can read his thoughts in his expression. “I look like a car not quite done with its paint job,” he remarks dryly, and Keith snorts. 

“It suits you, somehow.” And it does. Then again, there's almost nothing that wouldn't look good on Shiro. 

“At least I didn't go entirely white.” He hesitates, then smirks. “And it's not like getting my arm ripped off.”

Keith blinks in surprise, but there's no rancor in Shiro's voice. “At least you didn't lose your morbid sense of humor in the accident, too.”

Shiro barks out a short burst of laughter, and other diners frown at them. “I forgot how you never let me get by with any of my shit.”

His tone is amused, so Keith shoots back with, “ _ Someone _ needed to keep your ego in check. You had so many cadets lusting after you, I'm surprised your ego didn't launch you into space all by itself.”

“Really?” 

Keith wants to be suspicious of the surprise in Shiro's voice, but his expression is too genuine. “I don't know how you never noticed. They weren't subtle.”

“Why would I have? I never had any reason to look beyond what I already had in my life. I had you, and you were more than I ever could have asked for.” 

There's no earnestness in the words, no attempt to flatter Keith. From Shiro's perspective, it's simply the truth. 

Keith ignores it, because going back there would just hurt. Instead, he rolls his eyes. “You were around for years before I joined the Garrison. Don't act like no one hit on you before me.”

Shiro grins, but it's sharp, wolfish. “Technically, you didn't hit on me. I believe that honor is all mine.”

“Yeah, you were a thirsty old man,” Keith agrees, and he purposely keeps his tone bland and disinterested.

“And you were a teasing brat,” Shiro replies, just as blandly. “More proof that some things never change.”

Keith hides a smile behind his glass of water. “So now that we’ve established we’re the same people we were three years ago, why don’t you tell me about the things that  _ have _ changed?” He catches the flicker of uncertainty in Shiro’s eyes, the slight tensing of his shoulders, and amends his question with, “The things you’re comfortable sharing, anyway."

Shiro doesn’t speak at first, but Keith doesn’t mind waiting him out. The server comes back with their wine and takes their order while Shiro takes a sip, then another one, staring contemplatively at the table. Keith still waits.

“I live in Chicago, currently, doing consulting work.” It’s pleasantly vague, which Keith knows is the point. He doesn’t push. “It’s where I met Jake. I freelanced with his company about a year ago, and he was the HR rep who had to make sure all the proper paperwork was filed so I could get paid.” His mouth twists. “With a romantic start like that, I should have known we were meant to be.”

The sarcasm isn’t becoming. “Not every lasting or worthwhile relationship starts with a movie-worthy meet-cute, Shiro.”

“Ours did.”

Keith doesn’t bat an eye. “Ours didn’t last.”

Shiro snorts in self-deprecation. “Neither did mine and Jake’s. Maybe I’m the lowest common denominator here.”

“Or maybe you haven’t met the right person yet.” Keith tries for a careless shrug, but from the look on Shiro’s face, he wasn’t successful. 

“No. I have. I just fucked it up.”

He sighs. “Shiro.”

“No, Keith, I need to say this. We’ve been dancing around it for days, and I know why you don’t want to drag us through the mud again, but it’s important.” Shiro gives him a beseeching look. “Unless you absolutely can’t stand it, which I’ll respect.”

Keith is torn. He doesn’t want to keep going down this road, but he has a feeling that if either of them are ever going to truly heal from this, they have to lay everything out. “No, you’re right. It’s important.”

Shiro flips his hand on the table and Keith immediately places his own into it, linking their fingers together. Shiro’s quiet again, sorting his thoughts, and Keith tries to tamp down the butterflies in his stomach. He doesn’t want to hear this, not really. But he’s had to do a lot of things in his life he hasn’t wanted to, and he’s never been able to deny Shiro anything.

“After… After the fight. The break up.” Shiro swallows, the words faltering, and Keith’s throat aches. But he’s not going to cry. He’s cried too many times over Takashi Shirogane, and this is time for Shiro to share his side of things, once and for all. “About two weeks later, I stopped fighting myself and I went to Sam. Told him I was ready to go forward with the prototype. He’d waited for me, because he knew me as well as you do, and knew I was going to cave eventually.”

That, more than anything Shiro has said since they found each other again, hurts. They’d broken up over that fucking prosthetic, and Shiro had gone and gotten it two weeks later anyway. 

He stares at Shiro placidly while his heart bleeds all over his ribs.

“I was in trials and therapy and all sorts of shit for months. They had to keep testing things, over and over, tweaking and making it work better, and better, until it was as close to perfect as it could get. And Sam made going through therapy a condition of being accepted as their test subject. So I had to talk to someone that whole time.”

“And did your therapist encourage you to run away from your problems?” Keith asks, voice cool. He’s trying so damned hard not to be bitter, but every part of this is like a knife blade through his abdomen. “Or was that your decision?”

Shiro flinches from the harsh words. “Mine. My therapist encouraged me to go find you, to apologize. But I’d already deleted your number, your email, every way I had to get in contact with you. I was afraid I wasn’t strong enough to not go running back to you.”

“Because you knew I would have taken you back.” The words are flat, emotionless. Not a hint of the turmoil swirling inside him. “And you didn’t want that.”

“For you, Keith. I didn’t want that for you.”

Keith can’t speak past the acid rising in his throat, so he gestures at Shiro to continue his story.

“Once Sam deemed the trials successful, and granted me permission to move on with my life, I took a job in Seattle. That lasted for about six months. Then it was on to Baton Rouge for three months, Denver for eight, Pittsburgh for five, Charleston for two. I hit Chicago about a year ago, like I said before.”

“So your timer’s running out and you’re looking to move on again. No more attachments,” Keith presumes, and he takes a long swallow of the merlot. The rich, velvety flavor coats his tongue and pushes back the bile, for the moment. “Where are you going now?”

“Cape Canaveral.”

Florida. Keith sinks back into his seat, ruthlessly squashing the disappointment flaring in his gut. He’d known there was no chance for this to go anywhere beyond a brief reconnection in a tropical paradise. The confirmation that Shiro will always be too far away to hold onto is reassuring, in a way. It strengthens his resolve to not let this go too far.

But God, it fucking  _ hurts _ .

Shiro takes his hand again, and the tight hold is nearly desperate, his voice urgent and halting in turns as he continues to try to explain. “Keith, I was a mess for a long time. Still am. Despite the therapy, I've been plagued with PTSD and nightmares for years. They've never completely gone away.”

Keith pulls his hand away, wraps it instead around his glass and takes another sip, trying to search for an answer that isn't irrational screaming. The glass trembles in his grip. “You had PTSD and nightmares before then, Shiro. You punched me one time in your sleep.”

Shiro looks horrified, guilty, and sick in equal measures. It just confirms Keith's suspicion that he'd never known. “Keith. God. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

“I never blamed you for it. I held you, and I calmed you, and I watched you fall back asleep. I cried, wishing there was something I could do to fight your demons for you. I always knew I couldn't, but I also promised us both that I'd never let you fight them alone.”

He stops for a moment, watches Shiro's shoulders hunch in, and his heart twists. “But you didn't want me by your side. The only person I could never fight was you, so when you forced me to go, I went. And I think I hated you more for making me break my promise than I did for you breaking my heart.”

Shiro's expression shatters, and Keith wants to laugh at just how fucked up everything is between them. He was starting to think that maybe they could be okay, they could be friends at least, but there's still so much pain underneath it all. Keith wonders if they'll ever truly get past it. 

Conversation halts, but fortunately their meal arrives within a few minutes. They eat in silence until Keith decides he can't handle Shiro's unhappiness anymore. 

Putting his fork down, he chooses his words with care while Shiro looks up at him warily. “My intention isn't to hurt you every time I open my mouth. I'm not trying to punish you for mistakes you made years ago, and I know you were trying to do what you felt was best for me. But fucking hell, Shiro, you're reopening wounds that took almost this long to close. I'm not mad at you anymore, but I can't make it stop hurting that easily.”

His gaze searches Shiro's, looking for understanding. Shiro takes in a steadying breath, his fist clenched tightly on top of the white linen tablecloth. Keith reaches over and curls his fingers over Shiro's, and his heart stutters a little when Shiro's grip relaxes and he allows his fingers to thread through Keith's. 

“I wouldn't blame you even if you were trying to punish me. I hurt you deeply. I hurt both of us, because I was scared and didn't know how to handle all the major changes in my life.” Shiro stops, strain on his face as he clearly wars with himself over his next words. “I thought my life was over and I didn't want to drag you down with me, but I think underneath it all, I was afraid you'd find a way to give me a reason to live again. And I wasn't ready for that, I wasn't prepared to give up my wallowing and grief for what could have been.”

“But you did, and you did it on your own. I'm proud of you for that,” Keith adds, voice soft. “I know how hard it must have been, but when it came down to it, you didn't actually give up. You fought, and you lived, and you thrived.”

Shiro's eyes fall closed and he breathes deeply, the quivering of his lips evident before he presses them together in a thin line. “I wanted to be the man you saw when you looked at me. Even if I couldn't come back to you, I wanted to be the man you had loved.”

“Do love.” The admission slips out unplanned, and Keith isn't sure who's more surprised by it. “I do love you, Shiro. I never stopped. I couldn’t."

The smile that flits across Shiro’s face is tremulous, but genuine. Keith returns it, tentatively, and this time the silence feels like it used to--warm, comforting, and welcoming.

He knew he’d missed it, but the peace that settles around him makes it clear exactly how much.

\-----

They find themselves on the beach at sunset again, but this time Keith doesn’t mind. His thoughts are still swirling in his head like a cyclone, but there’s no anger this time, no hurt or need to lash out. 

Instead, his thoughts center on the man beside him, and whether he’s willing to take their reunion any further than they’ve already gone. The part of him which loves Shiro is screaming to stop fighting it, but the practical part keeps reminding him there’s literally no point to opening himself up to that kind of heartache. Not again.

“You’re thinking again,” Shiro says softly, and Keith blinks, pulling himself out of the battle between his devil and angel. 

“That's generally considered a good thing,” Keith counters. 

Shiro smiles, slipping his arms around Keith’s waist as he eases behind him, nudging his nose into the silky strands of hair curling behind Keith’s ear. “Maybe, but right now isn’t the time for it,” he murmurs. His breath tickles the soft skin. “You’ve been letting your thoughts take control since the moment we saw each other. Stop thinking, Keith.”

He tries to hold himself rigid in Shiro’s arms, but he  _ wants _ to stop thinking. He wants to stop  _ fighting _ .

Keith relaxes into Shiro’s embrace, feeling the press of firm muscle against his back. “There’s no point to this, Shiro,” he sighs, even as he tips his head back onto Shiro’s shoulder. “You’re heading to Florida in a few weeks. I’m going home to Arizona. Our paths are leading us to different futures. This is a temporary reunion, not the start of a second chance.”

“Maybe,” Shiro admits, lips skimming along the shell of Keith’s ear. “Maybe all we can have is here and now. But if that’s all we can have, I want to make the most of it. I want  _ you _ , Keith, and I want another taste of how good we were together.”

“I’m not sure I do.” Shiro’s arms loosen their hold on his waist, and Keith can feel Shiro pull away a little bit. He mourns even the slight distance. “I’ve been fighting myself ever since I recognized you’ll take this as far as I let you. Because yes, part of me wants this. I want to remember us like this, when all that matters is being with each other, rather than how you torpedoed a year and a half of happiness. But the other part of me knows that trying to put that wreckage back together is only going to make it worse for both of us in the end, when we have to say goodbye again.”

He twists in Shiro’s arms, looks up at him beseechingly. Shiro smiles down at him, but it’s a sad sort of smile. “Do we really have to say goodbye?”

Keith blows out a frustrated breath. “You know we do, Shiro. Say we try to make this work. Can we sustain something long-distance with no potential we’ll ever live in the same place? Or am I supposed to give up on my whole life to follow you everywhere you go? Moving every few months or a year, for the man who cut and ran when he got scared, destroying me in the process?”

He knows it’s unfair even as he says it; it may be accurate, but he’d promised to stop using it as a weapon. Here, though, it’s the only weapon he has against Shiro’s persuasive charm. 

Shiro’s face shutters, then freezes into a carefully neutral expression. “No, of course not. I’d never ask you to give up your life for me. It’s why I broke up with you in the first place."

They fall into silence then; Keith has no idea what to say to break it. He thinks, in a way, he's said all there is to say. 

It's Shiro who speaks first. "How much longer are you here?" 

"Two days," Keith answers, reluctant. He wants to pretend he'll be here indefinitely, that Shiro will, that they can escape reality and exist in a limbo that will guarantee they'll never have to give each other up again. He  _ wants _ to pretend, but pretending has never been his strong suit. Reality has always disabused him of that particular skill. 

"I'm here for another four," Shiro informs him. "I know I’ve asked you this already, and you said no. I’m going to ask again, but I promise it will be the last time, Keith.” He takes a deep breath, gaze intense, steady. “Will you at least give me the two days you have left? It can be in whatever capacity you want, but if this is the last time I get to spend with you, I don't want to lose out on a minute."

Keith wants to say no. It's the best thing for his heart. "Yes," he says instead. 

He's never been one to do what's best when gut instinct tells him to do otherwise. And he’s  _ so tired of fighting. _

The brilliant smile that spreads across Shiro's face, lighting up his molten gray eyes, is all Keith needs to know he made the right decision, no matter how much it hurts him in the end. He doesn't let himself think before he tips his chin up, letting his eyes drift shut, and it's only a heartbeat before Shiro's mouth is on his, lips slanting across Keith's and stealing the breath from his lungs. 

Keith clings to him, one hand wrapped around the nape of Shiro's neck while the fingers of his other hand twist into the fabric of Shiro's dress shirt, wrinkling it in his grip. Shiro groans into the kiss, his mechanical hand stealing to Keith's waist and pulling him in tighter, slipping around to the small of his back and holding their hips firmly together. 

He isn't sure how long they kiss; it might be seconds, it might be days. All he knows is he's in the one place he wants to be more than anything, in Shiro's arms, going under like he's caught in a riptide. Shiro's mouth keeps him starved for oxygen, but the thought of ending the kiss in order to breathe holds no appeal. 

Shiro breaks away first, inhaling raggedly, fire burning in his gaze as his eyes devour Keith's face with the same intensity of his kiss. Keith knows in that instant he can't deny Shiro anything anymore. From the look on Shiro's face, he knows it, too. 

\-----

To Keith’s relief, James simply smiles and claps him on the back when he explains he’s going to be MIA the next two days. There are a lot of ways he could react, but the reason they’ve remained friends for so long is he knows when to push Keith and when to back off.

Shiro, however. Shiro never backs off. He always pushed Keith with kindness, with earnest devotion, but he pushed. He never let Keith back down or give up on himself.

Keith’s grateful that Shiro’s stubbornness means he isn’t giving up on Keith even now, any more than he ever did back then.

When he knocks on Shiro’s door, his heart starts to race. He knows he’s only setting himself up for a world of pain when real life comes back to intrude in a couple days, but for now, he wants what Shiro wants. He wants to have every minute with Shiro he can possibly have, to hold on to when Shiro’s gone and all he has is memories. And when Shiro opens the door, a slow, blinding smile spreading across his face as he tugs Keith in the door and into his arms, he knows it’s worth every moment of devastation he’s going to feel when it’s over.

They don’t make it out of the hotel room that night. Keith’s not sure he meant to fall right back into Shiro’s bed, but if he’s honest with himself, he knows there was no chance it wouldn’t happen.

Shiro kisses his neck as he drives into him; Keith reaches behind himself, gripping the back of Shiro’s head and holding him as his lips whisper over Keith’s shoulder. Shiro’s chest presses tight against Keith’s back until he’s barely moving his hips, just grinding against him, unhurried.

When they both hit their release, Shiro’s hips jerking and Keith in trembling bursts that hollow out his stomach, Shiro keeps holding him. He snuggles in, curling his arm around Keith’s waist and tucking his chin over Keith’s shoulder, and hums in contentment. Keith hasn’t known peace like this in years, and he’s even more afraid of having to give it up again.

“I love you,” Shiro murmurs in his ear, head tipping enough for him to press a kiss to the curve of Keith’s jaw. “I always have. And God, I’ve missed you.”

“I love you too, Shiro,” he whispers back, lacing his fingers between Shiro’s where they rest on his stomach. “I should probably head back to my room now, though.”

“Don’t you dare,” Shiro breathes, and it’s tinged with sleepiness. “I want to wake up with you in my arms again. Please, Keith?”

Keith doesn’t say anything, but he also doesn’t move. A few minutes later, Shiro’s breathing evens out, and his arm slackens around Keith’s waist. Keith wants to savor this moment, but he’s exhausted, and it isn’t long before he follows Shiro into sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the last chapter of my favorite Sheith fic I've ever written. I hope you loved it like I do, and thank you for all the lovely comments and for following along!

They wake up slowly the next morning, luxuriously. Keith feels Shiro stirring behind him, but waits until they're both completely awake before asking, “What do you want to do today?”

Shiro snuggles into his shoulder. “You.”

Keith laughs, pushing him away. “We can’t just stay in bed all day. These are the last two days of my vacation, and as much as I enjoy being right here, I don’t want to miss out on doing other things, too.”

“I could change your mind.” Shiro gives him an impish grin, and Keith is seriously tempted.

“Stop. Don’t you like me for more than just my ass?”

“Sure. I like you for your dick, too.” Keith makes a face and Shiro grabs for him, pulling him in closer as Keith starts to slide out of the bed. “C’mon, Keith. Do you really want to waste the only two days we have together?” 

Keith finally shakes him off and starts to pull his clothes on from the previous night. “I wouldn’t consider it a waste, Shiro. We used to have a lot of fun together, no matter what we did. Why don’t we rent some jet skis or something?”

“If you insist.” Shiro pouts, and Keith had forgotten how damn adorable he can be. 

Keith steps in between Shiro’s thighs, resting his palms lightly over Shiro’s shoulders. “If we come back here after we’re done jet-skiing, would that make you happy? We can order room service and spend the entire rest of the afternoon and evening in bed.”

Shiro tips his head up and Keith leans in, slanting his lips over Shiro’s and glorying in the way the kiss steals the breath from his lungs. He knows it’s going to hurt so damn bad when this is all over, has known it from the start, but he can’t bring himself to care. Shiro’s hands slip up the backs of his thighs to cup his ass, pulling him in closer, and Keith’s knee nudges against Shiro’s erection. Shiro shifts his hips, pressing into the contact.

“That would make me even happier than I am right now.” His eyes twinkle, and Keith is struck once more by how crazy in love he still is with Shiro. This is his Shiro, the one from before the accident, the one who was playful and flirty and couldn’t keep his hands off Keith, the one who was passionate and full of life. The Shiro from after the accident may have loved Keith, but not enough. He was right in that, at least. He didn’t love Keith enough to trust him, or give him a choice.

Keith will never resent the differences in Shiro after the accident, because they were understandable. A person couldn’t suffer what Shiro had suffered without being irrevocably changed. But Keith can resent what they stole from him.

He’s missed his Shiro. And he’s exceedingly grateful to have another chance to be happy with him, even for a short period of time.

“The jet skis can wait another hour,” Keith murmurs, pushing gently on Shiro’s shoulders until he tumbles backward in the bed, taking Keith with him.

They wait three.

\-----

“Under the boardwalk, out of the sun…”

“You are  _ not _ singing a song from Beaches.”

“Under the boardwalk, we’ll be having some fun...”

“Dream on, Shiro. You’re not getting me under the boardwalk.”

“People walking above…”

“Stop it. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“Under the boardwalk, we’ll be falling in love, under the boardwalk. Boardwalk.”

Shiro croons the last of the song to him and Keith buries his face in his hands, feigning mortification at the unnecessary silliness of it all, but he’s secretly pleased. He loves seeing Shiro’s carefree side; even before their separation, it had felt like a decade since Shiro had last been happy.

Keith will put up with any amount of embarrassing antics if it will keep that smile on Shiro’s face.

Shiro grins, slipping an arm around Keith’s waist as they continue their walk down the boardwalk that inspired his impromptu concert. It had been Shiro’s suggestion for how they spent their last afternoon together, and Keith was amenable to it. He didn’t care what they did, as long as he could spend the whole day at Shiro’s side or in his arms.

“Ooh, corn dogs.” 

Keith watches in amusement as Shiro’s attention is diverted to the booth selling the aromatic fried food. He hangs back a little as Shiro brings back three of them.

“Hungry?”

Shiro thrusts one at him. “For you, you ungrateful ass.”

“You love my ass.”

“I love  _ you _ .” Shiro kisses his nose and Keith wrinkles it, making a face up at him.

“I did not miss how saccharinely adorable you can be.” He takes a large bite of his corn dog, smirking when he notices the way Shiro gazes at his lips, wrapped around the thick stick. Pulling off and swallowing, he chides, “Down, boy.”

“Spoilsport.” Shiro drops another kiss to his greasy lips, smearing their mouths together until Keith laughs and pushes him away. “I see a ring toss booth. Let’s go.”

“I’m going to kick your ass,” Keith tells him as they fall into step.

Shiro links their fingers together, and Keith twines his around Shiro’s larger ones. “You’ve been kicking my ass since the day we met, Keith. I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

They step up to the booth and Shiro pays for them to each get three rings. His eyes narrow in concentration and he shifts a little, leaning forward, shoulders tensing. He takes careful aim, launches his ring… and they both watch as it circles the rim of the bottle before launching to the back of the booth. 

“Bullshit,” he mutters as Keith steps up to the line. “My prosthetic was stiff.”

“Oh, don’t you fucking dare,” Keith snorts, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet before flicking his wrist. The ring lands neatly around the bottle and he grins triumphantly, turning back to rub it in Shiro’s face. “No blaming the prosthetic. Take your loss like a man.”

“It  _ was _ ,” Shiro insists, but a grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. Keith leans in and kisses it.

They take turns, Shiro making the second ring and Keith missing. On the third ring, Keith murmurs in Shiro’s ear that if he makes it, he’ll blow him under the boardwalk. Shiro’s arm jerks and he misses by a mile. “You did that on purpose,” he accuses, and Keith shrugs.

“Always look for your opponent’s weakness.” Predictably, Shiro crowds into his side and slips his arm around Keith’s waist, nuzzling into his neck. Keith shakes him off and takes aim, then lets it fly. 

They both hold their breath until the ring catches on a bottle near the rear, circling it rapidly until it slows, dropping down solidly around the neck of the bottle.

“And we have a winner!” The booth attendant lets Keith take his choice of prize. He picks a small panda with a shock of white hair, which he promptly hands over to Shiro.

“I’ll treasure it always.” Shiro kisses him. “Now let’s go find a game where I can make you eat my dust.”

They end up at a racing game, which involves using a water gun to carefully aim at a tiny target in order to send the little person up the pole. Keith’s competitive, but he knows he’s lost this one before they’ve even started. He tries to nail the target as consistently as possible, but he’s always just a teensy bit off.

Shiro, however, is a master marksman. Even the prosthetic hasn’t changed his precision and focus, and he never wavers from the target. The little man dances his way up the scoreboard and the buzzer goes off by the time Keith gets about three quarters of the way up. 

“You win,” he says, attempting to lose with grace, but it goes against his nature.

“I knew I would.” Shiro’s confidence should be irritating; Keith supposes it would be, if the confidence was more arrogance, but that’s not who Shiro is. “Care to go again? If I win three times, I get the big prize.”

Keith sits back down on the uncomfortable plastic seat. “We’ll see about that.”

They play four times, as Keith actually manages to win the third round. He gets a blow-up pink dinosaur that he gives to the little kid who’s been watching them play with big eyes. Keith’s getting the hang of the game but Shiro gives no quarter; he races the cartoon character to the top, making the buzzer go off just a second before Keith would have made it.

Studying the prizes available, Shiro makes a big production of hemming and hawing. Keith rolls his eyes. “Just pick one, you big gloater.”

“I’ll take that one.” Shiro points at something under the side of the booth, just out of Keith’s eyeline. 

“Here you go, one big lion for the big winner!” The booth attendant makes an effort at booming cheer, but he’s clearly not pleased to be giving away one of the big prizes. 

Keith feels a rush of affection when he sees the large red lion Shiro selected. It’s not quite the same style as the lion he’d won for Shiro all those years ago, but it’s close enough to be nostalgic. “Gimme.” He reaches his arms out and Shiro tsks, pulling it away.

“Someone’s being greedy,” he chastises, making a faux moue with his mouth. “What if I want this one? I worked hard for it, after all.”

“But I thought a staple of the romantic walk through the boardwalk or carnival or whatever is that the strong, handsome man wins his beloved a prize,” Keith tells him, batting his eyelashes exaggeratedly. 

“Which you already did,” Shiro teases. “Now I’m winning one for myself.”

“ _ Now _ who’s being greedy?”

Shiro laughs and hands the lion over, which Keith immediately tucks under his arm. “Are you ready to lose at something else?”

“I think the question is, can your ego handle it when  _ you  _ lose at something else?” Keith has missed this, too. Their back-and-forth was always so easy, challenging and charming and  _ fun _ .

He takes the lead this time, dragging Shiro to the arcade and sticking his credit card in the token machine. Shiro puts up a protest--Keith mightily resists calling it a  _ token _ protest--but in the end, Keith hands over a small plastic bucket full of them and keeps one for himself.

“Skee ball?” Shiro asks, and Keith’s eyes narrow.

“Bring it on.”

Skee ball is his favorite; Shiro throws the balls with force, but Keith has a light touch and just the right wrist action to send his balls into the 100 slot nine times out of ten. He refrains from gloating when the final score is more than three times in his favor, and his machine spits out a long string of tickets. 

“You cheated.”

Keith rolls his eyes, grinning. “You’re a sore loser, Shirogane. You can’t cheat at skee ball, I’m just better than you.”

Shiro leans in to murmur in his ear. “It couldn’t be that you’re particularly skilled at handling balls?”

Keith runs hot. “We’re in public, surrounded by lots of screaming children and sunburned grandparents wearing knee socks and sandals. Please keep your horniness to yourself for a few minutes.”

“You make it hard,” he breathes, and Keith twists to glare at him. “Okay, okay. Air hockey?”

Air hockey, unfortunately, is far more Shiro’s forte than Keith’s. Shiro’s long arms give him an unfair advantage, while Keith has to nearly fold himself over the table in order to get decent leverage. He fights hard, striking the disk with more force than finesse, but Shiro wins the first game 7-4 and the second 7-6. 

“I almost had you the second time,” Keith sulks, and Shiro tucks an arm around his shoulders.

“Cheer up, Keith. Let me buy you dinner to make it up to you?”

Keith sniffs. “Maybe later. I want funnel cake.”

Shiro presses a kiss to his temple, smiling against his hair. “Then funnel cake you shall have.”

\-----

When they get back to Shiro's room that night, the mood between them is somber. It's a stark departure from their playful banter and flirty silliness earlier in the day; it's hitting them both now that this is it. By the time the sun is up tomorrow, Keith will be gone. 

"I love you," Shiro whispers, lips pressed to the back of his neck. "And as much as tomorrow is going to hurt, I wouldn't have traded the last few days for anything."

Keith leans back in Shiro's arms. He'd like to say the same thing, but considering how much it already hurts, he can't begin to imagine how much worse it will be in the morning. 

That's not true. He knows how much it will hurt, because he's been here before. The only difference is now he knows it’s coming. 

"I don't want to talk about tomorrow," Keith mutters, twisting a little in order to look up at Shiro. "We still have tonight. That's all I want to think about."

“And what do you want to do tonight?” Shiro’s tone is a little sad, a little wistful, but his eyes are warm. 

Keith reaches up to press a lingering kiss to his lips, then steps back. “I was thinking we’d go to bed early, get a good night’s sleep. I have to be out of here by five.”

Shiro stares at him in dismay, but then he schools his expression into one of understanding. “Whatever you need.”

Keith laughs, grabbing Shiro by the belt loop and pulling him in close. “I appreciate your sacrifice, Shiro, but you don’t really think I’m going to cheat us out of the last few hours we have together, do you?"

“I’d hoped not,” he murmurs, hooking one finger in Keith’s waistband and toying with it. “But you weren’t as enthusiastic as I was about even spending this time together. It wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility that you’d want to… separate yourself.”

Keith shakes his head ruefully. “If I’d wanted to separate myself, I would have run screaming the first day I saw you.”

Chuckling, Shiro pulls Keith into his arms. “That little revelation certainly put a damper on my dinner.”

“That wasn’t actually the first time I saw you, you know. The first time was the day before. At the pool,” he clarifies when Shiro looks at him blankly. “James and I were lounging when I recognized you, but you left without seeing us.” He sighs. “I was terrified I’d run into you again, but I’m pretty certain it would have ruined my vacation if I hadn’t. I would have thought about you and… the breakup for the entire rest of the time we were here. At least this way I get to go back to my real life with no regrets.”

“None?” Shiro peers into his eyes, and Keith shakes his head. 

“None. I’ve laid our ghosts to rest, Shiro. I’m always going to love you, and it’s probably always going to hurt, but I’m never going to regret it.”

Shiro’s eyes blaze as he tips Keith’s chin, and Keith throws himself wholeheartedly into the kiss when Shiro’s face lowers to his. 

He’s barely aware of when Shiro tugs him into the bed, clothes landing all over the place as they strip each other bare. Shiro’s hands on his body light flames across his skin, and as Shiro moves over him, inside him, Keith pulls him down into an endless kiss. He knows he’ll never be able to convey to Shiro how much he’s always loved him, how much he always  _ will _ love him, but he’s going to spend the rest of their last night together trying.

\-----

Keith wakes at dawn, and shifts onto his hip toward Shiro's sprawled out, sleeping form. He looks mournfully down into Shiro's peaceful face, heartache making his chest so tight it's painful to breathe. He doesn't want to leave, but he always knew this moment would come. This feeling is why he fought Shiro's charm for so long, even though a part of him always knew it was a losing battle. 

He slips quietly out of the bed, gathering his clothes and minimal belongings, and slinks out of the room. He wants desperately to wake Shiro up, to say goodbye and kiss him one last time, but he knows better than to give in to the urge. This is the best goodbye he can offer, the one that hurts them the least.

James is already up when Keith gets back to their room, but he knows by the look on his face not to say a word. He lays a hand on Keith's shoulder and squeezes gently, a gesture of consolation and understanding, and resumes packing. 

Keith's quiet on the flight home. It's easier to turn his face to the window and let the tears fall in silence. 

\-----

In the ensuing months, life mostly gets back to normal for Keith. The ache in his chest is ever-present, but most days it only hurts a little, instead of being so overwhelming he can’t breathe. Fortunately for him he’s friends with James now, unlike the last time, so he has a (nagging) guardian angel to keep him from getting so drunk his hair hurts.

“Are you ready for today?”

Speak of the devil. Angel. Whatever.

“For what? Playing babysitter to an arrogant flyboy who thinks he’s God’s gift to the Garrison?” Keith looks up briefly as James falls into step with him, then back down to his tablet with his instructions for the day. He’s really not looking forward to escorting the new flight chief around like a glorified tour guide. He has actual work he could be doing, damn it.

James shoulder-bumps him. “Don’t be so pessimistic. You never know, he could be a middle-aged hardass like Iverson.”

Keith snorts. “Iverson wouldn’t hire another one like him, he can’t stand the competition. Besides, he’ll want someone pretty to put on the recruitment brochure.”

“You’re probably right.” James sighs. “It’s just too bad you have this insane need to be number one at everything. If you were just a little bit worse at piloting, I’d be the number one flight instructor and get to show around the new chief.”

“Then it’s even more fortunate I’m number one,” Keith retorts. “The last thing we need is to start out with this guy slapping a sexual harassment suit on the Garrison.”

James stops, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring imperiously at Keith. “I’m a professional, Keith. What I do in my off-work hours has no bearing on how I behave at work.”

“Then I’ll make sure to tell the new chief not to suggest going out for after-work beers.” He hikes his chin a little. “Now get back to work, Griffin. I have some paperwork to finish up before he gets here.”

James salutes and heads off to complete his inspection of the new plane his crew will be testing out later in the week; Keith heads back to his office. He wasn’t lying, he really does have paperwork he needs to finish up, but what he wants to do more than anything is sneak a look at his phone. He wasn’t stupid enough to put any of the pictures of him and Shiro as his background or lock screen, but he keeps them in a folder on his home screen for easy access. He labeled it “work” to make sure James isn’t tempted to snoop. Not that he really thinks James would, it’s not his style, but he’s surprisingly loose with his ethics when it comes to Keith. 

Keith’s heart stutters painfully when he opens up the folder and finds the first photo, but it doesn’t get easier as he scrolls through. They all feature Shiro gazing at him adoringly, looking for all the world like the stars had been plucked from the sky just to be placed in his sparkling silver eyes. For his part, Keith’s are full of wonder and worship, and it burns a path like fire under his skin.

Abruptly, he tosses his phone on his desk and pulls out the forms he needs to sign to make sure the new cadet class has authority to access the simulators. The time for daydreaming and memories has passed. Now he needs to get his head firmly back in reality.

He loses track of time as he works through his inbox, until he hears a sharp rap on the door frame. Glancing up, startled, he sees Rizavi’s cheery face poking its way into his office. “Look alive, Kogane. The new chief’s on deck, and he’s  _ hot _ .”

“Keep your CO with that plane for the next couple hours,” Keith instructs wryly, and Rizavi grins. 

Standing, Keith straightens his uniform jacket, hating that Iverson made him wear it. He sees no need to put on false airs to impress the new guy, since he’ll be back in his civvies soon enough. He glances at the leather jacket slung over the back of his chair, briefly tempted to shrug it on anyway, but the thought evaporates the moment the flight chief steps through his door.

“I’m told you’re the one I should see about a guided tour of this place,” comes Shiro’s deep, rich voice, and Keith’s ears ring a little. He knows what he’s seeing, but he can’t be seeing it. He blinks, owlish, and Shiro gives him a small smile. “Surprise?”

“Shiro. What the fuck.” His vocal cords don’t seem to work beyond those few words, as everything else that wants to come tumbling out of his mouth gets caught in his throat. 

Shiro steps further inside the office, shutting the door behind him. “You left, and I couldn’t bear going back to being without you.”

“So you followed me to Arizona?” His voice is faint; he knows he’s not saying the right things, asking the right questions, but his brain is like a hive of bees that just got kicked by a combat boot. “What were you thinking?”

Shiro crowds into his space, but Keith doesn’t step back. Instead, he looks up into Shiro’s earnest, determined gaze. “I was thinking that I refuse to repeat the last three years of my life, missing the person I love most and being too much of a coward to go after him. I was thinking, Keith, that I’m not about to be the idiot who lets you go a second time. You told me you couldn’t be expected to drop your entire life and follow the guy who broke your heart. I’m here to show you I’ll drop my entire life to be wherever you are, because that life means nothing without you.”

Keith forgets his earlier lecture to James about proper behavior in the workplace and promptly folds himself into Shiro’s arms, reaching up to take Shiro’s mouth with his. Shiro’s hands come up to cradle his face tenderly, tipping Keith’s chin just enough to give him easier access, and Keith’s head swims as he returns the kiss with equal fervor.

When they separate, Shiro’s arms stay around Keith. Keith makes no attempt to break the hold. “How did you make this happen?”

“You remember Major Addison?” Keith nods. “He has family in Florida and has been at the Garrison since before Iverson. I got him a position at Cape Canaveral.”

“Leaving his current position open for Captain Russell, our old flight chief who just so happened to be next in line for Addison’s spot,” Keith concludes. A wry grin curves his lips. “How long have you been plotting with Iverson?”

Shiro strokes a thumb down the ridges of his spine. “Since the day I woke up to an empty bed and the misery was more than I could bear.”

“You are such a fucking sap,” Keith complains, burying his growing smile in Shiro’s chest. His next words come out muffled. “I hope you don’t think you’re moving in with me right away.”

Shiro scoffs. “I’ve seen the meager quarters you instructors get. Being flight chief comes with perks, baby, and I have a feeling before long,  _ you _ will be moving in with  _ me _ .”

“Dream on, flyboy,” Keith teases, but Shiro’s eyes go dark, wicked, and Keith can think of a few other perks that come with his new title. Perks like a private office, with a lock. “So. Want me to show you to your new office?”

“Lead me anywhere, Keith,” Shiro murmurs. “I promise I’ll always follow.”


End file.
